


let's laugh and cry

by sarcangel



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Hiatus fic, M/M, Nouis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-04 14:39:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15843363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcangel/pseuds/sarcangel
Summary: “Remember what I said, last January?” Niall asks. Louis swallows and nods, pressing Niall’s hand; it’s one of those things he’ll never forget. “I meant it then. I’ll always mean it.”And then Louis has to kiss him, backseat and Paul be damned. He cups Niall’s face in his hands and gives it everything he has: it’s slow and sleepy and slick, their tongues sliding together like the best song. Here, with Niall pressed against him, kissing the doubt and impossibility out of him; he’s happy for now with just this. If he only ever got just this, it would be enough.





	let's laugh and cry

**Author's Note:**

> Writing this scared the shit out of me. I would like to thank Jamila for taking the time to read this and give very useful and lovely feedback, when it was definitely not ready for human consumption and I hated it and didn't think there was any way that I'd ever feel comfortable putting it out in the world. 
> 
> And I would like to thank Quinn for taking the time to read this and give very useful and lovely feedback (your text idea OMG I will never be over it) who read it later, when I loved it and didn't think there was any way that I'd ever feel comfortable putting it out in the world. <3
> 
> Big thanks also to both Jamila and Justine for putting this fest together, the world needs more Nouis at all times and I hope this doesn't disappoint you.

**Going to be there tonight, it’s going to be siiiiick lad!**

Pushing “send,” Louis slides across the SUV’s hot leather seats. If he were counting - and he’s not - Niall responds in under ten seconds, too quick for him to get his coffee settled properly in the cup holder.

_I’M going to be sick you mean ! lol_

He shifts his coffee to his right hand, trying to untangle his keys and dropping them on the floor instead when he almost burns the shit out of his fingers. “Fucking hell,” he mutters, leaving the keys on the floor for the moment and wiping his hands on his trackies **.**

**That’s a load of shit. I’m so fucking excited!!!**

It’s been a Good Day. Rehearsals went well this morning, though he’s tired now. The extra shot in his Americano should be the fortification he needs to make it through the show tonight - or vibrate out of his skull; whichever happens first is probably fine. His phones dings - there’s Niall, again, texting him back.

_Will be a tough crowd !!_

_Have a surprise planned for ya_

Cute, that. As if he weren’t nervous enough about the show tonight, almost as much as if it’s his own gig. He takes a big drink before tapping out his reply **;** it’s hot but not quite scalding, good but not quite delivering the punch to the face he needs.

 **Awwww Neil you shouldn’t have** , he types. _Wait_.

**A surprise I will actually like?**

_Don’t know ! We’ll find out I guess ._

The bubble stays on the screen for a second; he knows what’s coming next.

**Don’t fucking say it**

_That’s why we come to watch live music Tommo_

**Better stop mucking around and get ready, lad. See you soon**

He tosses his phone into the passenger seat; the midday sun beats through the driver’s side window. The keys have become impossibly wedged in the tiny space between the seat and the center console, he may literally have to dislocate a finger to reach them - like that bloke who fell down the mountain and had to chew his own hand off to get loose.

The clock tells him it’s already Freddie’s naptime, so there’s no point in trying to rush back. He takes a drink of coffee, battling the wave of disappointment that breaks through him. It’s just one of those things he can never explain: the joy in your kid’s face when they see you, how that joy bounces back and fills you up, too. Reciprocal - a word Zayn always liked.

By the time he gets home, sleep is pulling at him, all soft arms and lazy sunbeams. Briana’s said she’ll bring Freddie by when he wakes up, might as well get a nap in before the show tonight. The house is oddly quiet without Cliff, who’s already boarded ahead of his trip to Vegas - the upside is having plenty of room to sprawl out on the couch in the sitting room.

He wakes up an hour and forty years later with Freddie’s face in his.

“Da da,” he yells, one inch from Louis’ nose; a smile splits his round cheeks. He lifts his arms in the air, “Up.”

“You want to come up here, lad?” Louis blinks the sleep out of his eyes and pulls him close for a snuggle. He’ll never get over the feeling of Freddie’s solid weight in his arms.

“Up,” Freddie says, wiggling loose, grabbing his sleeve and tugging insistently. “Bocks.” Briana’s laughing quietly in the doorway to the sitting room. He smiles over at her - she looks good, hair loose around her face; mocking him has always suited her.

“Thanks for bringing him,” he says, pushing himself to stand and unsuccessfully trying to stifle a yawn. “Can I get you anything?” He waves a hand toward the kitchen. Freddie’s walking over to one of the baskets in the corner that holds his toys.

“I’m good,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m not staying.” He nods and turns to Freddie, now fetched up against his target.

“How about you, Freddo? Do you want a snack?”

“NACK,” he says, eyes big in agreement, as he struggles to lift the heavy wicker lid.

“Hey,” Briana says, walking over to help him. She lifts the lid off and kneels down. “I’m going to leave for a little bit, buddy. I’ll be back to get you before dinnertime.” Freddie starts digging blocks out of the basket. “Give me a hug.” She holds him for a second, then stands and turns to face Louis.

“What time do you need to leave tonight?” She asks, fiddling with the ring on her car keys.

“Probably between six and seven,” he says, thinking it over.

“Ok, I’ll be back by then,” she says, and heads back down the hallway; a minute passes and he hears the front door click behind her.

Louis walks over to Freddie and helps him fish the rest of the blocks out of the basket. It’s a wild mess of blocks and cars and xylophones; there’s no point in organizing it all when it just gets spread back out again.

“Fiff?” Freddie asks, looking around.

“Aw, bud, Cliff’s not here today. He’s...staying with his friends for a few days. At another house. But he’ll be here next time, I promise.”

“Abo,” Freddie says, nodding. He starts building, eyes fixed on the blocks in front of him.

“I’m gonna go get your snack. Be right back, all right?”

“Hob?” Freddie asks, his little face looking hopeful. Louis laughs and nods.

“Biscuits, a boy after me own heart. Suppose we could do that, if you don’t tell your mum.” He returns in a minute with some apple slices and the requested biscuit.

“Tanks oo,” Freddie says, and sits by his stack of blocks to start munching. Louis drops down on the floor next to Freddie’s precariously formed tower. They’ve worked out a good system over the past few weeks: Louis adds stability to the structure as Freddie builds, bracing corners, squeezing blocks into the blank spaces Freddie can’t be bothered with. Freddie’s good with the blocks, though - even while eating, his chubby fingers are surprisingly deft, intent on his task. He’s standing now, crumbs on his face, stretching up on tiptoe to stack another square on top. Louis sits back and gets his phone out to take a video.

“Tall,” Freddie says, working on his tower. He extends his arm above his head, trying to place the block. “Reach.” He turns to look at Louis. “Hi,” he says, smiling as he sees Louis filming.

“Hi,” he says back. Freddie turns and points at the blocks.

“High,” he says again, pointedly.

“Sorry, buddy,” Louis says, shaking his head. “Do you need help?” Freddie nods yes.

“Abo,” he says, turning back to the blocks. Louis reaches out and tips it into place, pressing it down firmly.

After blocks, they play a favorite game where they are both dogs and cars, as far as Louis can tell - it mostly involves crawling on the floor and either barking or making engine sounds, so it’s easy enough to manage. They make it outside for a kickabout in the back garden for a while, and then it’s time for milk and another biscuit, and before he knows it Briana is there to pick Freddie up.

He scoops Freddie up for a tight hug - he smells of oatmeal biscuit and milk and the fancy lavender shampoo Brianna insists they use for him. It’s a smell Louis wishes he could carry with him everywhere, lock it up tight like treasure.

“See you in a few days, Freddo,” he says. “I’ll miss you.”

“Bye bye,” Freddie says, wriggling down so that he can give a proper wave.

Ten minutes later and Louis is still in his closet deciding what to wear. Oli will be here at literally any moment and he’s sitting in his pants like a teenager, feeling like he should have bought a corsage or bow tie or something. It’s just Nialler, he probably wouldn’t even notice if he showed up in a paper sack and espadrilles, long as he shows up. These last few months have scrambled him; whatever’s been growing between him and Niall is probably something he’s invented. His phone dings just as he’s pulling on the old standard - jeans and a sweatshirt, black snapback: Oli’s waiting.

The queue outside the venue is long and intensely excited. Walking across the street, he’s nervous, suddenly. He goes through his checklist. Nondescript: check. Tattoos covered: mostly check. Snapback on: check. No entourage: check. Staring at the queue, he questions that last bit, now. May have been a bad job, not bringing security.

“Oi, Oli, this could get intense,” Louis says. They finish crossing and he stops to light a cigarette, pulling his cap further down on his head.

“Cadge me one of them,” says Oli. Louis shakes a cigarette out for him, waits for him to light it. “We’ve seen worse, haven’t we? Least no one is likely to lift their top or summat,” he nudges Louis with his elbow. “‘Sides, I’ve been working out. They’ll never know what hit ‘em.”

“Your skinny arms,” Louis says. “Pfft.”

They head toward the side entrance, where venue security is expecting them. Pulling strings always makes him uncomfortable - some of his favorite moments happened while queueing, including the time Sarah Bennish groped him at the theater - but there’s practicality, too. They’re about two-thirds of the way there when a group tries to catch his attention.

“Ey up,” Louis mutters, exhaling. Though it’s clearly too late, he still tries to change direction. “We’ve been spotted.”

“ _LOUIS_ ,” one of them half-shouts, waving him over. It’s just a few girls, thank Christ, not too much younger than him by the looks of it. They’ve just crossed from the ramp across the street; no one in the queue seems to have cottoned on yet. He holds a finger to his lips while he walks over. They’re trying to be cool but one of them is literally bouncing up and down on her toes; it’s adorable, really.

“Keep it down, keep it down,” he says, smiling at them as he approaches. “Don’t blow me cover.”

“Will you take a picture with us?” one of them asks, holding out her phone. She’s being brave but looks nervous, bless her.

“I hate to say no,” he says, dropping his cigarette and stepping on it. “But let’s save it for next time, love. This one’s all about our Nialler, right?” She pouts in an exaggerated way, but they all look disappointed. One of them fishes a marker out of her bag and he signs a few hastily collected items and makes his getaway.

Upstairs, they settle into their balcony seats. Louis watches the steady stream of people coming in now that doors are open, jostling for space on the main floor - bearing flags or signs. He feels like a bag of sharp edges, can’t get comfortable.

Oli nudges his leg to stop it bouncing. “Want something to drink? You’re on edge, mate.” Louis finally exhales, an explosive breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Brilliant. You have all the best ideas. Knew there was a reason I’ve been keeping you around.”

“Get on, dickhead,” Oli says. “What’ll you have?”

“Dealer’s choice,” Louis says, pulling his sleeves over his hands. He looks up at Oli for a second, glad to have him along. “Thank you.”

“Eh, you’re buying, don’t get sappy.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he says, aiming a blow that Oli easily evades.

From the balcony, the Troubadour seems smaller than when he’s been there for shows before. Niall’s been smart: playing small venues, working out the kinks. Just figuring out how to carry a show on his own, Louis supposes - sure there’s a lot less fucking off and missing lines, not knowing if someone else will be there to hold you up.

Oli comes back with the drink and it’s not more than a few minutes before the lights change and the crowd quiets, a collective breath being held, broken by a few screams here and there. His stomach is leaping all over the place but he manages to hold himself still with an effort, or else Oli will take the piss.

When Niall takes the stage, the crowd’s infectious energy crackles through the hall like lightning. Louis finds himself sitting up straighter, clutching his glass and stifling the worst need for a smoke. He needn’t worry. Niall steps up to the mic, and his voice fills the whole hall, like it’s meant to. It takes a few songs before he starts to relax and proper enjoy the set.

“He’s _killing_ it!” Oli leans over to shout in his ear, smiling widely.

“Right?” Louis shouts back. His chest is a big spray canister of whipped cream, some combination of pride and amazement.

The rest of the set flies by. When they come back for encore, Niall pauses for a chat and looks up at him, and it hits him like a pure bolt of sunbeam energy.

“My good friend, Louis Tomlinson is here,” he says, raising his hand to where Louis is sitting.

“Fuck you, Neil,” Louis mutters, he knows he should be embarrassed, that hot feeling rising in him - but he’s not. The crowd’s getting into it now, yelling and chanting his name **.** He holds up his hands and shakes his head, although he knows Niall can’t hear him. “I’m not coming down there.”

Niall just crooks a smile, cheeky bastard, and launches into familiar chords. For a heartbeat, Louis is transported back in time, Niall picking out those same chords in the hotel room with Jamie, while he and Harry squabbled over whether “star” could really rhyme with “heart.” Tonight, in Niall’s mouth, Fool’s Gold becomes something different to what he remembers: bigger and smaller; more delicate, more optimistic.

Even as Niall sings, he keeps sneaking glances up at Louis on the balcony, and something else licks through him - he can’t put his finger on it exactly - though there are words right on the edge of his tongue. Curious. Fluttery. Strange.

After that, the restlessness that’s been plaguing him all night starts to congeal; he honestly doesn’t think he can sit there for another second. Downing what’s left of his drink, he sets the cup on the floor.

“I’m going sidestage for the rest,” Louis leans over to mutter in Oli’s ear. Oli nods and half-turns in the chair to face him.

“Alright, tell our Nialler bang up job, yeah?”

“Tell him yourself, you idiot - we’re staying after, aren’t we.” Oli gives a sideways smile and pokes him in the cheek.

“You’re old, wasn’t sure if you’d be able to make it.”

“Piss off,” Louis says, standing up. “See you in a bit.”

Making his way downstairs, he gets to side stage easily enough; security smiles and nods and shows him through. He wipes his palms on his jeans, oddly jittery.

Being so close to stage makes him itch to be back on one himself; Saturday’s iHeart show can’t come fast enough. Storming through the last song, it’s clear the band has found their groove in the last few months. Niall somehow spots him and throws him a wink, busting out his best Springsteen vertical strumming.

Then they’re taking a bow and heading off stage, a happy tangle of people with Niall laughing at the center of it. Niall lights up when he sees him again and his heart goes haywire.

“Oi, Tommo!” he shouts, spreading his arms wide. And then Niall’s there, crashing into him, soaked with sweat. They’ve seen each other often enough, hugged often enough, but tonight it’s like holding a live wire; Louis feels a smile stretching his face that’s not for public consumption, right glad they’re sidestage and that he didn’t wait up in the VIP loft.

Niall tucks his face into Louis’ shoulder and holds him tightly. The smell of his sweat and adrenaline is so familiar, they could be back in Jakarta or Miami. He digs his fingers into Niall’s back and squeezes him, lets himself have the extra second that Niall always offers.

Niall pulls back and Louis in turn is pulled back to the here and now: this Niall who is brunet and has held his kid - changed his kid’s diaper, even; this Niall who just pulled off an incredible gig that had nothing to do with him at all.

“All right, Nialler,” he says, “that was bloody amazing.” His eyes feel a little wet; can’t blame it on anything but pride, really. Stepping back, he addresses the band at large. “Smashed it, lads, absolutely.” They give a cheer, throwing their fists in the air. Niall half turns and waves them on.

“Go on, boys, I’ll catch up,” he says. Turning back to Louis, he takes a step closer. “Let me get changed, I’m completely disgusting.” He hesitates, then, chewing his lip. **“** Come with me?”

“In those dressing rooms?” Louis puts up his hands, wrinkling his nose. “No thanks, not by choice.”

“Oooh, Lewis, who have you met in the dressing room here that I don’t know about?” Niall asks, lifting an eyebrow and leaning in. The sudden encroachment into his personal space sends a little frisson down his back. Louis pushes him away, half-heartedly cuffing his arm.

“Knobend.” He smiles, though, reaching to push Niall’s hair further back off his forehead. “I’m heading back upstairs.” He stops and remembers, “Oli’s here, he’s excited to see you.”

It’s like a small chaos in the loft when the band arrives. Louis can feel it before he even hears them, the skin on the back of his neck tightening for a second before someone crows “Yihoo!” and the room goes crazy. He buys a round for the band and waits for them to make their way over.

It’s hard not to watch Niall working the room: taking his time with each person, remembering something small about them, calling them by personal nicknames. His stomach kicks every time Niall gets closer. He’d ask himself what the fuck it means, but he's been there before enough - he knows what it means, but not how to squash it.

Bird finds him and Oli first, where they’re standing by the bar, and he could kiss him, it’s such a timely distraction.

“Sick set,” Oli says, pulling the bassist in for a one-armed hug and pressing a beer into his hand. Of everyone, they’ve always gotten on like a house on fire.

“Cheers,” Bird says, lifting his lager to them. He turns and faces the room at large. “Up the lads!” The band choruses it back; it’s lovely, they’re like babies just finding their legs.

Then Niall’s there, freshly scrubbed in a Bruce Springsteen vest, and whoever called it butterflies got the whole thing wrong. It makes him angry, all of a sudden - because it isn’t butterflies, it’s a giant bird chasing a frog or some shit, and if people are going to write songs about it then they should do a better job.

“There he is, the man of the hour!” Oli says, pulling Niall in for a hug. He looks at Louis over Oli’s shoulder, crossing his eyes and pulling a face.

“Oi, let him breathe,” Louis says, handing Niall his lager once Oli has released him. Niall moves closer, so Louis can wrap an arm around him. His cheeks are still flushed from the show and the shower.

“So fucking proud of you, Nialler, you sounded great.” Louis says, right in Niall’s ear. He gives him another squeeze and lets him go.

“Did you like your surprise?” Niall asks, looking down as he picks at the label on his beer bottle. “First time playing that one live, feel like I’ve been rehearsing it forever.”

“That’s because you have, mate,” Bird cuts in. He turns to Louis. “Don’t get what he was so nervous about, sounded great from the first go. Like always.”

“Off with you,” Niall says, rolling his eyes and pushing him away. Bird laughs and grabs the rest of the drinks, taking Oli with him.

“Let’s give these ‘round and go talk to Shania,” Louis hears him saying as they pass. “You can be my moral support.” Louis taps the side of Niall’s beer bottle, drawing his attention back.

“Seriously, you smashed it,” Niall lights up, again. “And thanks for the shout out, you didn’t need to do that,” he says quietly.

“‘Course I did,” Niall says, putting his free hand on Louis’ shoulder. “Fool’s Gold is a tune. And I wouldn't have any of this,” he gestures broadly with his beer bottle, waving at the room, “if it weren’t for you. And the boys, of course.” He squeezes Louis’ shoulder and drops his hand. For once in his life, his words have completely dried up; thankfully, Niall takes a long drink of his lager and continues on. “You’re playing Saturday, right?”

“We are, yeah. Flying down tomorrow, though - we’ve got an early rehearsal and I promised our Harold I’d come see his set, after.”

“That’s adventurous,” Niall says, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t fret, I’ve got my disguise all sorted,” Louis says, rolling his eyes. “Don’t want to incite a riot of the crazies.”

“How’s Bebe? Excited?” Niall asks.

Louis laughs and takes a drink. “You've met her - there’s no crowd she can’t conquer. Honestly, she’s been more focused on getting me to wear matching gold lamé trousers than the actual gig.”

Niall cackles, grabbing his arm again, a warm spot that he can feel through his sleeve. “Finally, someone as ridiculous as you. I love her.”

“She’s the real fucking deal, isn’t she?” Louis agrees, smiling back at him. Niall sets his beer down on the bar behind Louis, nudging their shoulders together as he reaches past, and moves a half-step closer, mouth twisting all of a sudden. He’s so close, Louis can see the flecks around his pupils, the mark low on his neck where his guitar strap chafed him earlier. He concentrates hard on not looking at Niall's mouth, which he knows is bitten red and - _get it together, Tomlinson._

“Lou, I -” he starts, wrapping his fingers around Louis’ elbow. Someone shouts for Niall, whose neck whips around so fast, he almost cracks their skulls together. He sighs deeply, letting go of Louis and putting a smile on his face. “Shit, that’s Bob, I have to go make nice. Will you come with?”

Louis takes a step back, shaking his head. “I don’t think so. Your night, innit? Plenty of press for me to dazzle on Saturday.” He sets his empty bottle on the bar top next to Niall’s. “May as well take a lap of me own, remind people that I’m alive.”

Louis finds the rest of the band in the back of the room, clustered around a few high-top tables they’ve pushed together. They’re still bouncing off the walls, riding out the adrenaline wave from their gig - he knows that buzz well. Like a true seventeen-year-old, Gerry drags him over to the bar for a shot of Irish ( _for luck_ , he says)- which becomes shots, somehow, Oli tisking behind them like a governess the while.

Pleasantly loose, he makes his rounds. He and Sheema get to chatting; he met her once when Niall was recording, she’s funny and smarter than almost anyone else he knows. He’s pumping her for useless social media statistics when his phone dings. Briana’s sent a picture of Freddie, sprawled horizontally across his crib - one foot poking through the slats, head pillowed on his stuffed dog. “FIFF,” her message says. He tilts the phone to show Sheema, who coos and asks how old he is now.

“What’s making you smile, then?” Niall interrupts, walking up and throwing his arm around her; he’s got a fresh drink in his other hand. She leans into him for a second, dropping a kiss on his cheek.

“Bri sent me this just now,” Louis says. He hands his phone over to Niall, who extricates himself to take it. His whole face softens for a moment, an expression that crawls right through the air and curls itself around Louis’ heart, the traitor.

“Aww. I miss my little buddy, feels like I haven’t seen him in ages. How is he?”

“He’s lovely - talking a lot more than when you last saw him,” he says, taking the phone back.

“That wasn’t even more than a few weeks ago,” Niall says. “It’s mad, how quick he’s growing.”

“It goes fast,” Sheema agrees. “Except between the hours of midnight and four a.m. Those are like dog years.” They all laugh.

“I know, I know. Everyone says it, but.... it’s different to what I’ve been through, even with the little twins,” Louis says. “My brother and sister,” Louis adds, for her benefit. “They’re just three.”

There’s a commotion in the far corner, it sounds like the band is orchestrating a toast. Niall cranes his neck to see but makes no move to leave; even the tiny fucking hairs on Louis’ arm realize how close he’s standing.

“Go be with your band,” Louis says, shooing him away.

Niall puts his hand on Louis’ arm to stop him. “They can wait for one fecking minute. You’re my band, too.” Louis blinks, his cheeks are hot all of a sudden; Niall’s rubbing his thumb up and down his forearm, making his whole body buzz. He’s got a smile playing at the corner of his mouth like he knows just what he’s doing, and suddenly Louis’ wobbly and wound up and a bit like the floor has dropped out from under him. The moment stretches out a beat past normal, then Niall winks and heads over.

“Well,” Sheema says, following Niall with her eyes. “He’s a good egg.”

“That he is,” Louis agrees. “Terrible dancer, though.” Sheema laughs, and the tension is broken.

“I’m excited to hear your album,” she says, focusing fully on Louis again. “Maybe soon?”

“Thanks, love,” Louis says, “but I have no comment, official or unofficial.”

“Had to try,” she laughs, touching his shoulder briefly, before she gets pulled away by someone else from the label.

And so it goes. He and Niall orbit the room and by extension each other - or maybe it’s the other way around - Niall stopping when their paths cross to deliver something that messes him about even further: a smile, a comment, little touches that land like flakes of sparks under his skin. Building a bubble where anything seems possible, where maybe Niall’s got the same mishmash of fondness and attraction that’s twisting through him.

It seems like a long time later when he gets a text from Bebe, fully tricked out in her hotel room, white fluffy robe, green goop on her face. “Bedtime!” it says. And it’s not too much after that when Oli finds him, and he knows they need to be responsible. Their flight tomorrow is wickedly early, he needs to keep his head on not just for himself but for Bebe - he can’t let her down.

He doesn’t have to look, really, to find Niall, who is chatting up Lily Collins in the corner, probably boring her to tears with a riveting tale about his most recent tee-time.

Louis catches his eye and gives him the signal for “time to go.” Niall nods and says something quickly to Lily, who laughs and reaches out to touch his arm before he walks away.

“Sorry,” Louis says when Niall gets there. “Didn’t mean to interrupt something. Just got an early flight is all, didn’t want to be dramatic and leave without saying.” Niall looks at him oddly for a moment.

“You weren’t interrupting,” Niall says. He turns to talk to Oli. “Can I borrow this one,” he jerks his thumb toward Louis, “for five minutes?” His eyes dart toward Louis again, whose heart has just begun leaping about, dodging that hungry bird. “Make it ten minutes, actually, I…” He clears his throat. “We’ll just start going down, if that’s OK.” Louis nods, whatever is lodged in his throat making it hard to talk. And breathe.

“Sure, mate, whatever,” Oli says. “Though why you want to spend extra time with this idiot,” he elbows Louis, even as Louis scoffs. “Well, that’s probably a separate conversation.”

It’s dark in the back stairway, and silent. The kitchen must be closed, now. Niall’s quiet for a minute, too, the heavy sort that hangs in the air like a conversation as they descend the stairs. He pulls Louis to a stop when they reach the ground floor landing, before they cross through the double doors leading to the side entrance.

“All right, Nialler?”

“Yeah, just,” he chews on his lip, taking a step closer. “Been missing you, Lou.”

“Aw, miss you, too, lad,” he wraps his arm around Niall's neck for a squeeze. “Gotten used to seeing your face around, haven’t I?” Niall grabs his wrist before he can move away all the way, keeping his arm anchored there. Niall turns in his grasp; face to face, he seems a whole lot closer than before, making it hard to breathe again.

“No, I mean,” Niall looks down at his feet and then right at Louis’ face and swallows, hard. “More than that.”

That big ugly bird in his stomach starts banging around again, flapping its wings with interest, for fuck’s sake.

“How...how do you know?” Louis says, his pulse hammering away like a wild thing.

“Just do. Is it OK if I try something?” He asks, fiddling with the hem of Louis’ sweatshirt.

And it’s obvious what he wants to try, moving out from under Louis’ arm and gently pressing him back against the wall. Niall keeps his eyes open as he tilts his face toward Louis, giving him enough time to stop it or move away. But he doesn’t stop him, although it’s mad and dumb and he wrecks everyone he touches - but right now they’re in the bubble, so he’s got something to blame if this goes horribly wrong.

Niall cradles his hand around the back of Louis’ neck and leans in all the way, finally. He feels the slightest brush of Niall’s mouth against his own, fleeting and electric, before he draws back. The look on his face is impossible to read.

“What was that?” Louis breathes. Niall's staring right into his eyes like he’s trying to figure out what happens next; his own fingers have somehow curled into Niall’s t-shirt. Their faces are still close enough Niall could close the gap again, his hand absently scratching through the short hairs at the back of Louis’ head like he’s not sure he wants to let go yet.

Niall gives a tiny shrug and tries to shift back, but Louis keeps his fingers clamped tight on his shirt. He starts to smile, just at the corners, trying to hold it in.  “A snog,” he replies, lifting a hopeful eyebrow. “Something to think about.”

Louis is already thinking about it, is the thing, if one could call an endless loop of _yes_ and _more_ a thought. “You call that a snog?"  He scoffs. "You’re slipping.” Niall's grin breaks loose, blinding and happy. Louis just wants to put his own mouth against that smile, chase the feeling that’s climbing up his bones. Since they’re still in the bubble, anything is possible - so instead of letting go or laughing it off, he curls his fingers tighter in Niall’s collar and pulls him in.

How no alarm sounds when their lips meet, he’ll never be sure. Niall’s lips are chapped and his stubble rasps against Louis’ face, and his bottom lip is the perfect shape for sucking. He makes a tiny sound that hits Louis right in the gut; they’re just starting to give it a proper go when someone clears their throat behind them and they split apart.

Niall closes his eyes like he can’t turn to see who’s caught them, although he’d laugh at the gobsmacked look on Oli’s face, rapidly turning into a smile. Louis wants to lick the flush off Niall’s cheeks, put his mouth on the spot where his guitar strap marked him. It’s like jumping into a puddle for the joy of doing it and discovering it’s wide and deep and has a current and whole schools of fish. Sexy fish.

“Give us a mo,” Louis says, ignoring Oli’s smirk. He wisely says nothing and heads through the doors. It’s quiet for a stretch, the sound of his own breath roaring in his ears.

“I know, my timing is fucked,” Niall says, exhaling shakily. Louis leans in and presses their foreheads together.

“You’re right,” he says. “But we’ll figure it out.” He unwinds his hands from Niall's shirt and pulls him in for a hug. Niall tucks his head in, like always; not like always, he feels Niall’s lips brush against the base of his neck. Shivers break out all over his body. Niall lets go, finally, and nudges him away.

“Get you gone,” Niall says, pushing him towards the door. “Oli’s waiting.”

“Niall -”

But he shakes his head, taking a few steps backward. “Have fun tomorrow, I’ll see you Saturday.” Niall turns and starts back up the stairs.

The night air is cooling off outside, but the day’s warmth lingers, radiating up from the pavement. He climbs in the car with Oli. It’s dark, apart from the lights on the dash, and Louis can’t make out his face. Oli sits there for a few seconds before starting the car, taking a breath like he’s about to say something.

“Don’t even start, I’m not talking about it,” Louis says.

Oli just laughs and pushes the ignition, slowly backing out of their spot. “Saw that one from a mile off.” He adjusts the rearview mirror. “Well, a mile and three years, if we’re getting specific.”

Otherwise, it’s quiet; so quiet he can almost hear the bubble popping as they drive away from the venue. And honestly, he needed that - because what the fuck was he thinking, anyway? Niall’s the last person he should mess about. _Three years._ This thing with Niall - bad job, bad timing, bad idea – snuck up on him just this summer, where did Oli even come up with that? He’d ask him what he meant by it, if they weren’t under rule of silence.

When they’re a few minutes out from home, Oli starts talking, regardless. “You’re me oldest mate and we’re stuck in the car, so I’m going to tell you a few things your mum would want me to right now.”

“Don’t -” Louis says, making an abortive gesture.

“Just shut the fuck up for one minute of your life.” Louis can’t see him, but it’s really not necessary, he can sense the eye roll. “Three things. One, you deserve something good, more than anyone I’ve met. Except for maybe Niall, but I’ve always liked him better.”

“Oi,” Louis says, “you don’t have to say it out loud.” He turns his head away from the window, finally.

Oli lifts his right hand off the steering wheel and makes a fist. “I’m not kidding, I will punch you in the dick. Two, you’re not going to break him. Or ruin his career. Or yours. In fact, it could be brilliant, think of the photo shoot opportunities and tell-all book options, oh my god -”

“Are you quite finished?” Louis asks, smiling in spite of himself.

“No. Three, I’d probably wait until both your albums are out to get caught getting off in the middle of a club again, you slag.” He can hear Oli shrugging against the leather of the seat. “But you’re both adults, so you’ll do what you want.”

“That was hardly the middle of a club, don’t exaggerate.” The streetlight washes in and out of the car, illuminating everything before plunging them back into darkness. “I just need some time, I think,” Louis says, pulling out a smoke and rolling down the window.

“Time is good,” Oli agrees. “Just don’t overdo it.”

~~~

He does see Niall on Saturday, although they’re both caught up in their own separate whirlwinds of management and media and performances and bands. He’s got to admit it’s a little odd, seeing it that way - part of him is so used to sharing that chaos; having a say in it, even. Nothing like Niall managing his own tornado to remind him how much things have changed.

Promo is always fucking weird. It feels a bit useless, putting in all that work - rehearsals, stylists, plane rides, car rides - to stand up in front of thousands of people and play one song.

And there are thousands of people here, waiting to hear him play - even though it’s just one song, even though it’s the middle of the day, even though they could all be at home enjoying a leisurely nap - and that’s a fucking good feeling, isn’t it? Confidence and nerves are duking it out in his stomach, like usual, the tired boxing match of his life. But he and Bebe sound good together, he’s watched their performances enough to know they _have_ it, that spark that makes them work.

He’s relieved when they smash it, a relief that beats through him like his own loud pulse. Bebe grins at him, shiny with sweat, and they take a bow. Even now, after hundreds of shows, the cheers of the crowd thundering up through the soles of his feet still feels like pulling a blinder, every time. Bebe is thrilled, and in that moment he’s grateful to have pulled it off for her. She hugs him for a long time once they’re off stage.

“We were fucking awesome!” she sing-songs, rocking them from side to side.

“Yeah, yeah,” he agrees. “We did alright.” But he knows his smile gives him away. She punches him in the arm, anyway; it hurts, someone obviously taught her how to throw a punch at some point in her life.

“Asshole,” she says.

In the dressing room, he finally finds a few minutes of quiet between people coming in and out; he needs it, the time to decompress. Briana’s sent him a video of Freddie eating watermelon, a cute but truly disgusting spectacle, grainy pink juice dripping down his face and onto his little chest while he makes big eyes and smacks his lips.

It must be a moment for sending videos, because he’s in the middle of replying to Bri when a text comes in from Niall: a very wobbly video of his performance with Bebe, her gold trousers shimmering in the bright heat, right when they go into their accidentally synchronized bopping. Niall’s captioned it **_DEADLY !!!_ ** and nothing more. He squelches the little bubble of pride and something that’s not pride that flares to life, waking up the asshole bird.

 **Oooh, 007** he replies, **who sent this to you?**

_Filmed it myself . H lent me one of his gucci suits . I’m in disguise_

**_Bet you look like a sofa_ **

**_A nice sofa,_ ** he adds, **best quality**

_More like a fancy tea cloth. You were [fire emoji]_

Louis stares at his phone for a second, watching the typing bubble.

_I may have just sent it to everyone we know . ha ha_

And there goes his traitorous heart again, happily gurgling away, telling that bird all kinds of stories; stories about car rides and bus rides and four a.m. confessions and the way Niall’s hands looked so huge when he cradled Freddie for the first time.  It’s a mess, all right, realizing he might want those big hands on several critical parts of his body when he’s got absolutely no right to. He pushes it down ruthlessly.

**You’re a real shit.**

**You on soon?**

_Got a nice shirt on and a bunch of lads behind me so I better be !_

**Good luck,** he sends back, with a string of shamrock emojis.

He’s halfway through recording a reply for Freddie when his phone blows up, Niall wasn’t kidding. He actually sent it to everyone they know: his sisters, the lads, their old crew, Steve, Simon, even Briana; probably even Zayn.

It’s not until after he and Bebe smash their second set that he sees Niall’s reply:

_Same to you . Love ya buddie_

Off stage, he and Bebe are just starting to work through the leftover adrenaline, jumping around like wild animals with their teams.

“You’re still taking me out, right?” Bebe asks, suddenly stopping the weird prance she’s been doing. “Or are you going to diss me for your more famous friends?” He’s going to be sad when this promo run is over; she’s a good girl, tough and genuine and honest.

“Hey, now. Don’t worry, love, would never go back on me word.” He nudges her with his elbow, still trying to catch his breath. “Looking forward to it, it’s gonna be wicked.”

Someone on Bebe’s team - Adam, it is - walks over to tell them that Slow Hands is about to go #1 in the US. For a minute, he freezes.

“Oh my god!” Bebe says, pulling on his arm. “Let’s go!”

It’s a mad dash to get back to the dressing room area before Niall’s final set; he’s lucky that they’ve both got some energy to burn, although they’re not exactly inconspicuous. Bebe whoops and laughs as they dodge around crews and teams and media, and he’s fiercely fond of her, glad she came with.

Through a stroke of luck and more running than is likely advisable, they manage to catch Niall before he goes back on. Through the door to Niall’s dressing room, he can hear the band starting vocal warm ups. He hesitates for long enough that Bebe gives him a push, directly into the tent door. The harmony crashes and disintegrates when he sticks his head through, still off balance. The band swivels as one to look at him; it’s a bit unnerving.

“Oi!” he announces, because if you’re going to make an arse of yourself, you may as well go full tilt. “Just heard the big news.”

“You fucking legend!” Bebe adds, jostling him to get some space. A group cheer goes up; it’s going to be a big night, he’s sure. Niall grins at them, seeming pleased as punch at their unexpected arrival.

“Are you lot coming in or are you just going to lurk around the door?”

“Not trying to interrupt,” Louis says, holding up his hands and edging further into the doorway.

“Get the fuck in here, you eejits.” Niall pulls Bebe into a hug first, lifting her a little of her feet. “Your set was incredible,” he says, “nice work.” He lets her go and steps toward Louis, opening his arms.

“Think the congratulations go to you,” Louis says, into Niall’s shoulder. “I’m so fucking proud of you. Even if you are a first-class wanker.” It’s the height of inconvenience, really, how smelling someone happens accidentally; you don’t even have to try to notice if they smell clean and nice and of cologne. Niall tightens his arms around him while the band continues their warm up, Gerry leading them through the chorus of ‘On the Loose.’

“How many showers have you had today?” Louis asks, pulling back. “You smell like a fresh Irish breeze.”

“Thinking about me in the shower, are you?” Niall asks, out loud. With his mouth. In range of Bebe’s ears, which is why he knows he’ll never hear the end of it tonight.

“Doesn’t everyone?” Bebe asks, batting her eyelashes and poking Niall in the stomach.

“Nah. Only people with exceptional taste,” Niall winks.

Tara pokes her head through the door flap, and everyone somehow quiets at the same time. “Ok, boys, ten minutes ‘till go time,” she announces, clapping her hands. “Get your Irish - “

“And British,” the band choruses.

“And British asses in gear,” Tara agrees, in a long-suffering voice.

“Back to work. Will you be around later?” Niall asks, and Louis doesn’t think he’s imagining the hopeful cast to his voice.

“I’m tearing up the town with this one,” Louis says, slinging his arm around Bebe. “She’s never done Vegas before - can you believe it, at her old age?”

“Hey,” Bebe says, digging her elbow into his ribs.

“Class. Maybe we’ll see you out there. Be good.” He ropes them both in for a group squeeze, skating his lips across Louis’ cheek for half a second.

It’s a Good Night. At large in Vegas with Bebe and her crowd, riding the high of their incredible gigs, it’s like bringing Freddie somewhere new; he gets to experience it all again from her eyes. Even though he’s a stupid wretch, they have a great time, and Bebe doesn’t try too hard to get him drunk enough to spill his secrets - which are living pretty close to the surface, after all; just below the scratch coat on the endless glittering pavement, waiting to crack out.

**~~~**

The microwave beeps from three universes away, dragging Louis out of himself and back into this shit day. Meetings with the label were a complete shambles, all bleeding morning. He could make up a BINGO card with their tired arguments.

“Wait, wait,” is all they ever tell him - but the songs are ready now; he hates waiting.

“Focus on the long game.” But fans have short memories, they won’t hang around forever, hoping for ten second tweets of his dashboard.

“Streaming is everything.” But he’s written an album that makes sense _as an album_ , not just a collection of tracks.

“Can you manage more promo, everyone’s doing promo.” But he’s a dad now, and he’s already gone more than he’d like.

It’s the worst song, with the worst refrain, written by the biggest arseholes - except they’re not really, they just forget sometimes that he’s no newcomer. Not one to roll over, definitely not one to play dead, even if his throat hurts from swallowing a third of what he wanted to say.

The plate’s too hot when he reaches into the microwave, so he pulls his sleeve over his hand to fish it out, settling himself in a stool at the kitchen island.

He ends up burning his tongue on the first bite, anyway. “Shit,” he mutters, sucking air through his teeth and putting the fork down. Out the kitchen window, it’s pissing rain, turning the garden to a soft blur. It’s hard not to miss Freddie on days like these; he misses him all the time, really, but today it’s almost tangible, could almost wrap himself up in it like a melancholy jumper. Even the boring shit, playing cars over and over and deciphering his toddler babble. Even the gross shit, which is literally gross shit.

He’s just stuffed a huge bite of chicken in his mouth when his phone starts to go off. If it’s someone from Columbia, he can’t be responsible for his own reaction at this point.

But it’s not John or Michelle, it’s Niall ringing on FaceTime. In the half second delay between accepting the call and the video opening, his heart actually skips a beat; he’s such a living cliché. Niall’s face appears, grainy and dark. Louis would bet anything he’s having a lie in, what with the pillow and the chest hair and the knackered look on his face.

“‘Morning,” Niall says, blinking and scratching his chin. Louis points at his own face, still chewing, and holds up a finger: _One second, please._

“Feel like I’ve wandered into one of your Insta stories, mate,” Louis says, swallowing. “What the fuck is this, even?”

“Shut it,” Niall says, “I’m fucking jetlagged as hell, Tommo. Need someone to wake me up a bit so I get the motivation to get out of bed.” Louis checks the clock. Calculating the time difference has become second nature, factoring in nap time and bedtime and everything else; it’s a quarter past seven in London, which puts Niall at a quarter past eleven in LA.

“Just back, then?” Louis says, getting a lager out of the fridge.

“Yeah,” Niall says, stifling a yawn and starting to sit up. “Got in last night.”

“How was it?” he asks, sitting back down at the island and taking a drink.

“Eh, it was good craic,” Niall says. “Brazil always is, the fans are so into it.” He eyes Louis for a second. “Do you really have to flaunt your beer in my face?”

“Oi, you rang me,” Louis says. “Price you pay for the pleasure of my company.” Such as it is when he’s a broody wretch, anyway.

“Would kill for one of them right now,” he groans. “Or a cuppa. Or both.” He scrubs his hand over his face, looking marginally more alert - and stubbly, and tired, and fucking wonderful really and isn’t it great, having one more person to pointlessly long after when there’s nothing you can do about it.

“Jesus, Niall, what’s the point of being a fully-grown pop star if you can’t have both? Live your dream.”

“Fair play,” he says, finally getting out of bed. Louis starts the walk through Niall's house to the kitchen. “How’s London?”

He takes another bite so he doesn’t have to answer right away. Food’s gone coldish, but it doesn’t really matter; anything to keep his useless frustration from spilling out will do. Niall stops walking and his face zooms in, suddenly, like he’s studying his screen. Louis gets a close-up view of his nose and eyelashes for a moment before he pulls back to a normal distance.

“Lay it on me, then,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “What’s got Tommo Top Dollar down?”

Louis swallows, the food sticking in his throat for a long minute. Trust Niall to cut right through the bullshit. “Just...What’s it like, touring?” He rolls his eyes at himself. “Pretend I didn’t say that, I obviously know what touring is like. By yourself, I mean.”

Niall exhales and looks up at the ceiling for a few moments before he answers, starting to walk again. “It’s different to what I know, and to what I expected. Miss you lads, of course. Being in charge - figure I know more what it was like for you now, having to keep your head on in meetings.” He scratches his jaw, considering. “Suits me, though. Making decisions, having final say.”

“Surprising no one that actually knows you, might I add.”

Niall laughs, the big one where he throws his head back like he’s releasing something wild into the world. The sound of it is distorted by their connection, but it’s still one of the best noises he knows. “Think the label was most surprised by that, thought I’d be so go with the flow at first.”

“And now?” Louis asks, pushing his chair back.

“Wouldn’t be surprised if they made me a plaque that says, “sort it out,” as many times as I’ve said it in meetings or whatever.” Niall snorts.

Louis puts his plate in the sink and the phone down on the counter, opening the window there. “Give me all the juicy details, then,” he says, fishing his cigarettes out of his pocket and lighting one. “Does John leave his socks on the floor? Does Gerry put unwashed teacups in the sink?”

Niall grimaces, pouring a glass of water in his own kitchen and moving to sit down. “No one's got a junk bunk at least,” he says, before taking a drink. “So, what’s the story? You have that look you get, you know -” he wriggles his fingers over his own face in an incomprehensible way.

Louis takes a long drag, pushes his exhale out into the rainy garden before replying. “Just feels like I’ll never get there. Like it’ll all get lost in the fucking endless negotiations of producing and promoting an album, most of which have nothing to do -”

“With the album itself,” Niall finishes. “Right.”

“Sorry, I know we don’t really talk about this shit.” He leans over the phone and makes apologetic eyes. “How did you manage it? Now that you’re a few weeks out from D-day?”

Niall sets his phone down at a bad angle, so Louis can only see part of his face and one of his arms as he reaches up to stretch. “The first time I had to say “No,” I almost shit myself,” he chuckles, remembering. “It was early on, sitting in a room full of bigwigs and just little old me. So I asked myself, what would Louis do -”

“You didn’t,” Louis says, horrified and proud all at once. Something in his chest hurts, thinking about Niall all by himself in that meeting.

“I did - more tactfully, of course,” Niall’s face appears again, grinning at him. “Told them I needed a break. When I got outside I did the breathing thing for a minute and then…” he disappears from the screen completely.

“Then?” Louis prods him.

“Sorry,” Niall says, popping back into the frame. “I made a list. And I went back in and told them I wasn’t going to do it, and all the reasons why. And - you’re going to laugh at me -”

“I won’t, I won’t,” he says, exhaling and holding up his hands where Niall can see them. “Promise.”

“Well, that list kept getting bigger. I put down everything I wanted from the album and potential tour. Short term and long term, that kind of stuff.”

“Spreadsheet, I bet,” Louis says, smiling and running the tap over the butt of his cigarette. He leans back against the counter while Niall keeps talking.

“It’s just in my notes, gobshite. _As I was saying_ , when we got to a sticking point, or they wanted something I didn’t, I went back to the list,” Niall gets up again, Louis can hear the sound of running water in the background. “And I said, is this something - even if I didn’t like it or was different to my thought - that will get me what I want? If the answer was yes, then we did it.”

“What if the answer wasn’t yes?” Louis asks, peering down at Niall.

“Then we went back to it until we found an idea that worked for everyone. There’s a running joke about it now, “is this on the list?” But it’s worked for me.”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “It has, hasn’t it?”

“I took a long time writing that album. But you only get one first shot, you know?”

“Think we,” Louis moves his hand between them, “get that almost better than anyone. There’s no starter album for us, is there?” He shakes his head. Niall shrugs in agreement on the other side of the universe, before he wanders out of the frame again. “Enough work talk. How’s Bobby and Maura doing? Did Bobby buy that lorry you were on about?”

“No, thank Christ, though I had to ask his neighbor since he’s so fucking stubborn. Why you’d want to replace one rust bucket with another - pure madness, is what it is.” Niall’s back, a mug of something in his hand. “How’s everything on your end? How’s Daisy holding up?”

“She’s all right, just going through a rough spot,” he kicks the toe of his shoe against the floor. “It’s a tough age, especially without your mum. Phoebe’s got that fighting spirit, but Daisy’s just a little...softer, you know?”

“She’s lucky to have you,” Niall’s voice is so low, he can barely make it out. “We all are.” His face swims into view again. “Louis, I…”

“Save it, lad. Next time I see you, yeah?” Niall nods and drops it.

It’s late enough when they finally ring off that it won’t be too much longer until Freddie wakes up from his nap. He’s got enough time to schedule an afternoon meeting with John and Michelle for tomorrow - he has an idea, at least, and he doesn’t think they’ll say no.

**~~~**

Sometimes even when people live in the same city, getting in the same place at the same time is hard. Louis stayed longer in London than he was expecting, and then Niall was in London but he wasn’t, and now Niall’s schedule is truly fucked with album launch prep - also, he doesn’t return his fucking texts anymore apparently - and so it’s not until two days before Niall’s album launches that he worms back into Louis’ good graces with a promise of dinner and letting Louis kick his ass at FIFA all night, without whinging about it even once.

Freddie’s always good for keeping him out of his own head for too long, so it’s extra-helpful that Briana’s out of town for the day. They have a lovely morning at the beach and get McDonald’s takeaway for lunch, and by midday he almost feels like he’s not going to crawl out of his skin or be pecked alive from the inside by the dickhead bird living there.

But while naptime is still one of the fifteen best things about parenting, it gives him too much time on his own. He’s not seen Niall in person in a month, give or take; enough days to have thought about that kiss more than he should have, an average rate of one to twenty-seven times per day. Enough hours to tell himself it was a likely a one-off, a fluke, a glitch in the matrix - over and over, as often as necessary. A few minutes where he lets himself believe that it wasn’t.

Freddie wakes up just like he does, which is slowly and not gracefully. And so he’s snuggling his still-sleepy kid on the couch and watching some truly awful children’s program on the telly when he hears Niall’s short knock on the door.

“Guess who’s here, buddy?” Louis asks, rubbing Freddie’s back. The man himself appears from the hallway, bearing a strained smile and two paper grocery sacks. Freddie lights up when he sees him and it’s devastating, like looking at his own reflection.

“Nialler!” Louis half-shouts, while Freddie clambers off the couch to greet him.

“Hello, boys,” Niall says, setting the bags down on the floor so he can crouch down by Freddie. He looks tired; good, but drained.

“Ni-ni,” Freddie says, grabbing his hand and pulling him over to one of the baskets in the corner. Niall glances over at Louis a bit helplessly, a real smile flickering over his face. “Tuck!”

“Oh, yeah?” Niall asks, gamely lifting the lid off the basket. “What do you have here?” Freddie starts digging through the basket, throwing toys out.

“Careful, lad,” Louis reminds him, standing up. His whole body feels like it’s made out of knots - too much time on the couch, dwelling and second-guessing. Niall runs his eyes all over him when he stretches, making no attempt to hide it. Warmth spreads through him like spilled coffee.

He picks his way over for a quick squeeze, doing his best to make it not weird. When they pull back, they smile and duck their heads at the same time and it should be awkward, but instead it’s just funny. Niall’s laugh ringing out cracks the rest of the weirdness surrounding them and everything is suddenly normal again.

“You look good,” Louis says, dropping his hands. “You ready for the big -”

“Fish pants,” Niall interrupts, face shutting down. Oh, _shit_ . He hasn’t heard the codeword for “no work talk,” in a while, not since that rough writing patch last year. “Can we just…” Niall waves his hand around, the _be normal people_ is implied. Freddie pulls Niall into a complicated game of construction vehicles, which is about as normal as it gets for anyone. This much, at least, he can give him.

“His one true love.” Louis sighs. “Guess I’ll be the one stuck sorting out the shopping.”

“Serves you right,” Niall says, joining Freddie on the floor. “Having to contribute in some way after all. If you want a pointer, just put everything in the fridge.”

Louis flips him off on the way to the grocery bags; Niall’s short bark of laughter sounds almost right.

In the kitchen, he has time to take a breath and let the shit-eating grin he’s been fighting spread across his face. It’s that trick Niall has, making his doubts fly away like winter birds as soon as they’re in the same room - making it hard to remember, harder to be careful.

Poking through the food, he discovers Niall was right: he can just take the crisps off the top and put the grocery bags directly in the refrigerator, it’s brilliant. On the way out, he grabs a few lagers and something for Freddie, who is still on the floor with Niall, surrounded by vehicles while Niall flips through his phone, mouth tight.

“Hand it over,” Louis says, setting all the drinks down on the coffee table and making the universal ‘give me’ signal. There’s a moment where Niall weighs his options; then he sighs and gives it over in exchange for the beer.

“Cheers,” Niall says, tipping the bottle back quickly before securing it in the fold of his legs. Louis makes a show of taking his own phone out and slipping them both into the coffee table drawer.

Since they’re all having drinks, Freddie gets his sippy of milk as a matter of fairness, and some cheerios. Louis joins them on the floor, glad to watch someone else bearing the burden of construction for once - Niall builds while Freddie destroys, an endless cycle of demolition and renovation. They’re wearing oddly similar looks of concentration; if this weren’t a phone-free event, he’d try to get a picture.

“Valiant effort there,” Louis says, leaning back on his elbows. “Bit like trying to push back the tide, isn’t it?” This time it’s Niall who’s giving the finger, making extra effort to shield his hand from Freddie.

It’s a beautiful afternoon in Los Angeles, and they go out back to make the best of it. Freddie can play uninterrupted with water for ages when he’s in the mood to, and today he is: watering plants, watering Cliff, running unsteadily through the sprinkler, dumping bucket after bucket into his mostly unused sandbox.

“Who knew,” Niall says, yawning and leaning back in his chair. “The key to parenting is really the garden hose.” The late afternoon light shoots gold through his hair, painting him all over with its warm haze.

“I’m writing a parenting book, actually. It’s my next venture.” Louis says, getting up to fill the bucket again. A trickle of sweat snakes its way down into the waistband of his trackies, although it’s starting to cool off. “Calling it, “Don’t Step on the Fucking LEGOs.” He plops back down on the lounger next to Niall’s and puts his feet up. The air between them is thick and lazy, building up to something he can feel right down to his fingertips.

“What about you?” Louis asks him. “Any new old-man hobbies you’ve developed on the road? Taken up cribbage? Knitting? Can set up a little table for you in the garden with some checkers if you like.”

“Backgammon, actually. It’s been dead useful on tour,” Niall says, putting an arm behind his head. Tired as he must be, Niall’s face has lost that pinched look from earlier.

“Truly this generation’s old person in a young man’s body,” Louis says, shaking his head and squinting up at the clear, deep sky.

“There you go, thinking about my body again.” Niall pushes up his sunglasses to wink over at him, the corner of his mouth turning up.

“Maybe you should be thinking of mine.” He glances over at Niall, whose eyes have gone huge, then laughs and pats his stomach. “When are you feeding me, anyway? We’re wasting away, here, two growing lads.”

Niall groans but gets up; in the years Louis’ known him, he’s never said no to a barbeque, even if he’s the one doing the work. Freddie resists coming in but is mollified by the mention of snacks, so Louis hustles to make good on his promise, setting him up with a bowl of crisps.

Pulling things out of the fridge, he finally unpacks the grocery bags, nosiness piqued by hunger. There’s burgers for them and hot dogs for Freddie; assorted vegetables; a covered pan of something heavy; and corn on the cob, already husked and wrapped in foil.

“Get your fingers off of those,” Niall says, swatting Louis’ hands away from the neat cylindrical parcels of corn. “Can Freddie have one?”

“Doesn’t hurt to try,” Louis says. “Worst case we just have to cut it off the cob for him. But -”

Louis holds up the packet of hot dogs. “Best boil these, mate.” He doesn’t just say it to see the look on Niall’s face, but it is truly priceless - a combination of resignation and horror, all wrapped up. Sighing, he gets the pot out straightaway; Freddie’s on a bit tighter timetable for dinner.

Niall moves in the kitchen with confidence, stopping to look for things now and again: a cutting board, a spatula. It does something unhealthy to Louis, leaned up against the counter and helping as little as possible. It’s not good to have his heart hammering like that when Niall brushes past him. Even worse, the thing his stomach does when Niall grabs him by the hips and moves him bodily out of the way; he’s sure it’s a medical issue.

Freddie sits on a stool, happily munching crisps and the other things that Niall gives him while he preps, cutting up strips of bell pepper and slicing strawberries. Niall cooks with the same focus he applies to building blocks, which is much sexier when it’s not children’s toys that his hands are full of. The muscles in his forearms jump and twist, it’s unfairly distracting.

“How are you going to grill the potatoes?” Louis asks, coming up behind him and peeling the foil away from the baking pan. Niall’s shoulders tighten for a second and he stops slicing.

“Are you questioning my heritage right now?” Niall twists to look at him. “Been cooking potatoes since I was wee Freddie’s age.”

“Did you actually measure those?” Louis asks, pointing at the uniformly thick slices.

“I know better than to answer that,” Niall says, spreading the foil back over. “Used Bobby’s secret marinade, too.”

“Now I don’t get to ask you if the seasoning’s on,” Louis complains, edging closer; if he can get the right angle, his breath will hit the back of Niall’s neck. “You take the fun out of everything.” He’s just able to make it out of the way on time, dodging Niall’s slap at his dick.

“Still got the burgers, yet,” Niall replies. “You’ll have your chance.”

They gather everything on the patio, so Freddie can eat while they wait for the rest to be done. Niall remembers to quarter his hot dog without Louis saying anything. Never in his life did he think he’d want to snog Niall’s face off over a hot dog, but there you have it. When Freddie gets to the corn, his eyes actually light up; he eats it with uncharacteristic seriousness.

“Jesus, Niall,” Louis says appreciatively. “I think he likes it.”

“It’s a hit,” Niall agrees, plating up the rest of the meal. They’re all quiet for a while, eating around the table as the sun starts its inevitable dip below the skyline. Freddie plays in the garden, Niall slips Cliff scraps and Louis pretends not to notice.

It cools off fast once the sun’s mostly down, and the food is good even though there’s way too much. He kicks at Niall under the table to catch his eye. “Cheers,” he says. “This is great.” He keeps his foot tangled with Niall’s just to see the shy smile sneaking over his face. They almost never get to see the stars in the city, not without taking a drive, but the patio lights glinting on the pool are almost as good.

“High praise from a man who left to his own devices would just make fish fingers,” Niall deflects, sighing contentedly and sitting back in his chair.

“Says the man who calls Uber Eats and puts it on Insta like he made it himself,” Louis retorts. Niall clutches his chest, plucking at the arrow in his heart. “Oi, Freddie, bath time in one minute!” Freddie yells back something unintelligible from the edge of the garden.

For a little while, it’s easy to forget about the rest of everything, to believe that for just right now this is the whole world and they’re the only ones in it. Freddie, trying to toss the ball for Cliff in the half-dark, wild pitches flying everywhere; Niall, whose face has finally opened up, like a paper uncrumpling.

It’s getting pretty late in Freddie-time when Louis finally wrangles him back indoors for bedtime. All the fight goes out of him once he’s caught - he sighs and lays his head down on Louis’ shoulder as he’s carried into the house.

“What do you think, buddy? Should we skip bath time tonight?” It’s a dead giveaway of how tired Freddie is when he doesn’t protest. Niall smiles at him over Freddie’s head. “Phone ban is lifted,” Louis says, resettling Freddie on his hip, “for now. Let me get this one sorted, yeah?”

“Of course,” Niall says, voice trailing behind him as he heads further into the house. “Can’t wait to see what life or death emails I’ve been sitting on.”

Like Spider-Man, Briana can sense a disruption in parenting routine from a distance of six city blocks. He wipes Freddie down with a damp flannel and slathers him with lotion; it’s the best he can do for tonight, in lieu of an actual bath. Getting Freddie changed also requires superhuman strength and dexterity - even tonight, tired as he is, he’s gathered himself for a strong second-effort. Louis’ just gotten him into a clean nappy when he makes a run for it, shrieking and laughing naked around the house.

He’s completely unsurprised to find Freddie by Niall in the sitting room, pulling a book out from under the coffee table.

“Line,” he says, pointing at the first page and doing his best lion roar.

“Tooth-brushing time,” Louis announces, “no buts.”

“No want,” Freddie says, shaking his head.

“Come on,” Louis tries to pluck him off the floor, but he’s gone boneless, limp as a tea towel. He glances up at Niall, who is waging an unsuccessful war against a huge smile. “Niall will do the rocket if you brush your teeth right now.” It’s fucking ridiculous how they both light up at the suggestion, a double assault that he’s not sure how he’s meant to survive.

“Go bast, go bast,” Freddie says, walking to Niall and holding his arms up.

“Just the once, boy-o,” Niall says, standing and hoisting Freddie up on his hip. “Ten, nine, eight…” Niall tentatively starts the countdown, bouncing Freddie up and down in time with his counting, gaining volume as he goes. When he hits “one,” they take off toward the loo, Freddie screaming and clutching Niall’s neck. Louis grabs the book off the floor and tries not to lose his mind.

Niall stays while they brush Freddie’s teeth, hovering in the doorway and watching Louis with intent. He catches Niall’s eye in the mirror and it hits him that they’re about to be alone for the first time in a long time, the first time since he thinks he’s figured out what he wants. His heart hammers away and he’s pretty sure his hand shakes on Freddie’s toothbrush, but no one’s looking.

“Come on, buddy,” Louis says, lifting Freddie down from the counter. “Let’s do goodnight hugs.”

“Night night, Ni Ni,” he says, clutching Niall around the knees before Louis scoops him back up.

“We’ll just be a few,” Louis says. It’s hard to smolder at Niall with Freddie bent on smooshing his cheeks between his little hands, but it’s generally the effort in life that ends up counting, anyway. Based on the blush spreading over Niall’s face, he’s gotten the point across well enough.

After all that protesting, it doesn’t take much to get Freddie settled for the night - two read-throughs of Dear Zoo and a short cuddle later, and he’s ready for the cot. Louis smooths the hair back off his forehead one more time; it’s mad, but he’ll probably need it cut soon. Closing the door to Freddie’s room, he leans against it for a second, trying hard to get his shit together.

Out in the house, the sitting room is empty, but he can hear strains of piano drifting out of the music room. He finds Niall there, playing softly and murmuring lyrics he can’t make out. He could do a whole essay on how his back looks, curved over the piano; how it’s possible for friendship and longing to twist up together and fill someone completely. Niall looks up and smiles when he sees him, a brief flash of sunshine. Though he stops singing, his hands keep playing, like he’s forgotten he’s even doing it.

“Freddie had fun today,” Louis says, carefully settling on the piano bench a safe distance away. Through the inches separating them, he can feel the heat evaporating off of Niall.

“I had fun today, he’s a good kid.” He presses a few keys randomly before stilling his hands on the piano. “A handful, like his da.”

“You think he’s like me?” Louis asks, despite himself. As many times as he’s tried, it’s impossible to see anything of himself in Freddie.

“Of course, idiot. He’s the spitting image, first off. Second, he’s got…” Niall trails off, staring at his hands on the piano for a second before his eyes flash up to meet Louis’.

“What?” Louis asks, shifting closer.

“That thing, that Louis thing.” He waves his hands in Louis’ direction, fingers grazing over the top of Louis’ thigh as he drops them. “Louis-ness, whatever.”

“What was that?” Louis points at the piano. “It’s not on the album.”

“I’ll play it for you someday,” Niall says. He shifts on the bench, so he can face Louis better, moving in close and bumping their knees together.

“Not now?” Louis asks through a dry Sahara throat, heart beating like mad. His eyes slip down to Niall's mouth - he swears it’s an accident, but he wants what he wants, after all.

“Not now,” Niall says, looking Louis frankly in the face. “Right now, I’d rather kiss you, if that’s all right.” Niall’s fingertips are rough on his cheek as he leans in closer, breath ghosting out over Louis’ mouth like a touch, like the start of a kiss; like the start of something. “Is that all right?” he asks again.

“Yes, you fucking tea -” is all Louis can get out, and then Niall’s lips are on his, finally, pressing kisses slow and soft against his mouth. He’s so deliberate; Louis can’t remember the last time he’s been kissed that way, like kissing him was all someone cared about.

He nips at Niall’s bottom lip, tasting the shaky breath coming out of him, oh my god; and then it’s really happening, their tongues sliding slickly together, again and again. Niall groans and digs his fingers into the back of Louis’ neck, and Louis shifts even closer, tearing away to drop his mouth down Niall’s throat.

“Jesus,” Niall says, tipping his head back so Louis has more room to work. “Louis - “

He knows he’s in deep when even a few inches between them is starting to feel like too much. Niall lifts his face up to join their mouths together again, kissing him deeply, before pulling back for a moment.

“Hey,” Louis says, breathing hard. Niall nods and rests their foreheads together, moving his hands down Louis’ neck to rest on his shoulders.

“Yeah,” Niall says, moving back a bit. “Sorry. Got carried away there, a minute.” His cheeks are flushed, and his mouth is red, and he looks like he could eat Louis alive.

“You don’t look sorry,” Louis says, brushing his thumb over Niall’s lips.

“Because I’m not,” Niall says, pulling his hand down and linking their fingers together. “But I am trying to be good.” He takes a deep breath and smiles ruefully. “Which means I probably should get going.”

“I was promised FIFA and no whinging,” Louis says, raising his eyebrows. “Sit on another couch if you need to, but you’re not getting out of it.”

“Are you sure?” Niall asks, his grin breaking through.

“Yes, Neil.” Louis squeezes his hand and then stands, pulling Niall up with him. “Honestly, the lengths you’ll go to, to avoid losing.”

~~~

Something’s thrumming in the air in the dressing room, swimming under Louis’ skin like a swarm of eels. It’s hot back here, all of them crammed into the too-small dressing room, but he knows it will be hotter on stage under the lights. His phone’s dinging in the background but he can’t look at it right now, he’s ready to vibrate out of his skin.

“Keep your fingers out of your hair,” Lottie reminds him, pulling his hand away.

“Bossy,” he says, turning his fingers in her grasp to squeeze her hand. When did she get so grown up? It snuck up on him. She looks up from her phone, scrunches her nose at him.

“Learned it from watching you, didn’t I?” she says, going back to her phone. She’s working on some picture of him and the band - his band, he gets to stay that now - cropping it, adjusting the saturation.

“Suppose you’re right,” he says, bouncing on his toes.

It’s going to be epic, he’s excited to bring Miss You into the world in the Manchester Arena of all places, a building stuffed full of memories. He snuck backstage a few minutes ago for Love Me Again - the sound of the crowd was absolutely deafening, it made his hair stand on end.

The band is squirrely as hell, practically climbing up the cinderblock walls since they’ve finished vocal warm ups. Except for Rich, who’s looking poorly in the corner armchair. The last quarter hour has turned him into a sweaty mess.

“No vom ‘til it’s over, mate,” Louis says bracingly, walking over to clap him on the shoulder. “You’ll do fine.”

“It’s only twenty thousand people, man,” Mafro adds, laughing. “You’ve done bigger gigs.”

“It’s like this every time. It’ll pass.” Rich shakes his head, then drops it back into his hands. “Leave me alone, I’ll be fine.”

If it were a year ago - shit, if it were six months ago - Louis would be the one sweating in the corner. But the thing is, it’s not a year ago. But the thing is, fuck it. It’s the Manchester Fucking Arena, it’s November, they’re about to bring the house down; they’re ready.

“Ok, lads,” Oli says, from the dressing counter at the back of the room. His mouth snaps shut for a second when everyone swivels to look at him.

“And women,” Lottie adds, elbowing him in the side. Oli clears his throat and draws in a breath.

“And women,” Oli nods and throws him arms out, expansively. “This is it. The big one. The one we’ve all been waiting -”

“Oli, you fucking prick,” Louis says, flipping him off. It was the thing they needed, though, because everyone laughs and settles down a bit. “T minus ten minutes,” Louis reminds them. “Look sharp.”

It’s relatively quiet - he can’t hear too much from the crowd, now that they’re in between sets. Closing his eyes, he runs through what the crew’s doing on stage right now - setting up their rig, adjusting the sound, the known routine of it getting him into the zone.

Before he knows it, Artie is knocking on the door.

“Places, people!” he barks, flipping through his clipboard and disappearing again down the hall.

Louis exhales, pulling Lottie into a tight hug. Oli claps him on the shoulder.

“Huddle up, lads,” Louis says, bringing the band in around him. “You ready? We just need to go out there, do our thing - ”

“Epically,” Rich interjects. “Is that a word?” He’s looking better, at least.

“Like gods of rock,” Zak adds, shoving against David to his left, the idiot.

“Immortalized forever,” David says in his Radio Broadcast Voice, shoving him right back.

“Bob’s your uncle,” Aaron and Mafro chorus together. They pull apart, laughing - and then it’s go-time, and they’re out of minutes.

He can’t remember any part of the walk to the stage, after, just the long cement walls soaked in music and cigarette smoke, the lyrics of a million fucking songs that came before him. The noise of the crowd buzzes up through the bottom of his feet - and there it is, winding around his back bone, holding him upright. It’s suddenly impossible to stop smiling. The band must feel the same, because there they are, standing together in this scary moment, holding back the roar of the crowd with the power of their shit-eating grins. Even Mafro raises his eyebrows, laughing wildly. It’s the beginning of something, all right.

The screams when the band takes the stage are deafening. Then they’re waiting only on him, and there are few better feelings in life, when it comes down to it. The lights come up and the crowd goes crazy, and it’s just like they rehearsed it, but everything is better, sharper, and it clicks just like it’s supposed to.

It goes so fast. He wants to remember it all, but it’s not possible - each song slips through his fingers, all he can do is be in the moment. After carrying Little Black Dress all on his own, he doesn’t think he’ll ever catch his breath - but the opening chords of Miss You burst out, all heavy overdrive, and he finds his footing.

Too soon, they’re walking off stage, that weird thread tying them together pumped full of sweat and adrenaline. Lottie’s brought Daisy and Phoebe from VIP back to the dressing room; they launch themselves at him before he can even get a proper look at them.

“Oi, twin power,” he says, “you’ll knock me over.” Phoebe’s got her face buried in his armpit and it’s probably way past their bedtime but he’s glad for it. Coming down, he’s an odd mix of sadness and pride - and for one fierce second, he just wants to talk to his mum.

Lottie picks it up from his face, the tell-tale mouth wobble he’s glad the twins can’t see. “My turn, you lot,” she says, nudging the twins out of the way to hug him herself. She doesn’t say anything, thankfully; just squeezes tightly so he knows she feels the same.

“Proper rock and roll,” he says, letting go. “What do you think, Phoebes?”

If the room was too full before, it’s definitely packed, now. Daisy explores the room with Lottie, who is showing her the ten thousand assorted hair products it takes “to keep the band looking presentable.” Rich introduces Phoebe to the band, and it feels good - not perfect, but good enough for tonight.

~~~

It’s probably always slightly weird when one of your best mates - who you’ve snogged a few times and potentially had a tug to once or twice - stops by when you haven’t seen him for several weeks, when he was all pink and breathless from putting his tongue down your throat. Or maybe that’s just Louis; maybe for everyone else, that’s a completely normal chain of events.

But when Niall does show up at half nine, Louis is at the end of his rope. It’s lucky for everyone that Niall’s got a pizza box and a sixer in his hands and a bag from the chemist dangling off his wrist; it’s been a rough day.

“I could kiss you right now,” Louis says without preamble, taking the pizza box out of his hands. There’s a pause, since he is truly an idiot, but Niall just puckers up his lips and makes a big smacking sound, bless him, and closes the door.

Louis leads him to the sitting room, waving him to the couch; he’s got Netflix pulled up on the telly but nothing picked, yet. Niall holds up his hands, still carrying the beer and the bag.

“Where do you want me to put this?”

“Just set it here,” he says, settling onto the couch. “Where it will make the most immediate impact.”

“How’s Freddie doing?” Niall asks, putting everything down on the coffee table and settling next to Louis on the sofa.

“We’ll see,” says Louis, eyeing the monitor: so far, so good. If Freddie makes it through the next hour, they’re probably in the clear. “He’s been a terror today, can’t sleep because of all the coughing.” He starts stuffing a piece of pizza into his mouth; it’s divine, an actual gift from the gods.

“That’s tough,” Niall says. “Poor lads.”

“He’s all right, just a cold, really. But between worrying about him and dropping the next single, I feel like I’m about to come out of my skin.”

“Four days, eh?” Niall picks up a slice of his own and starts eating.

“Pinch punch, first of the month,” Louis agrees, popping a beer open for himself and one for Niall, who gives a low whistle.

“Cheers,” he says, taking the can. “It’s a fucking tune, too. Ready for everyone to lose their shit?”

“You know it,” Louis says. “I live for that part, it’s the best.” Now that he’s eaten something, he can notice how good Niall looks, tired and scruffy and sprawled on his couch in that way he has, legs everywhere, a compact person taking up way too much space. He’s starting to question his decision not to lead with kissing.

“Is Briana here yet?” Niall asks.

“She gets in tomorrow, yeah. Just been trying to spend some extra time with this one,” he nods at the monitor, “before promo starts. I feel bad that he’s poorly, though, think he’d be more comfortable back in LA.”

“About that. Got some stuff from the Boots,” Niall says, reaching for the sack on the floor and pulling things out of it: vapour rub, honey, lemon, saline drops. “I didn’t know what might work best, so I got a bit of everything, I think.” Louis sets his pizza down and turns to Niall.

“You didn’t have to -”

“Bobby Horan swears by some vapour rub on the feet, with socks over top. Figured it couldn’t hurt.” Louis stares at him; Niall flushes and fiddles with the bottle of saline. “To be fair, he also swears by a red flannel dipped in whiskey under the light of the full moon -”

Louis leans in and shuts him up with a kiss. He knows he tastes like beer and pizza, but so does Niall. His lips are warm and chapped, and open easily under Louis’ mouth; their tongues tangle and it’s just as good as he remembers. Better, even - he nips Niall’s bottom lip a little, because he can, and Niall makes a noise that goes right to his dick. Before he knows it, he’s crawled on top of him to get a better angle, Niall’s big hands running down his back to settle at his hips.

Sudden coughing from the monitor interrupts them. He pulls back from Niall, but stays put for a moment, listening. Niall drops his hands from Louis’ hips just as Freddie starts to cough again.

“Hang on, let me go check him.”

Niall nods, still flushed and unsteady. “Of course,” he says, helping Louis get untangled. “Come get me if you need me.”

In his room, Freddie’s standing up in his cot, just starting to cry for him. “I’m sorry, buddy,” Louis says, picking him up and brushing the sweaty hair off his forehead. He feels a little warm and sounds truly miserable, laying his head down on Louis’ shoulder and coughing again. “Time for more medicine, I think.” He carries him toward the sitting room; if paracetamol’s involved, an extra set of hands is always nice. “Got a surprise for you, lad,” he coaxes.

Niall’s sitting on the couch where he left him, of course; when he sees them, he jumps up and starts dimming the lights.

“Hey there, Freddo.” Niall murmurs. Freddie blinks at him, clutching his blanket and burying his face against Louis’ chest.

“Can you,” Louis gestures for him to take Freddie. “He needs another dose, I think.”

It’s not nothing, the way his heart kicks like a bass drum when he comes back in, seeing Niall cuddled on the sofa with his sick kid, rubbing his back while he drowsily sucks on his dummy.

Freddie’s fever is low grade and he takes the medicine easily enough, both unexpected blessings. Niall fetches socks from Freddie’s room while Louis spreads the ointment on his feet, and its familiar blend of menthol and eucalyptus is instantly comforting, calling up a million memories. Niall hovers for a few minutes before settling on the other couch, as if he needs to keep the holy ghost between them in front of Freddie, who is quickly quieting.

Being upright eases Freddie’s cough; his breaths get slower and deeper and it doesn’t take much before he’s passed out on Louis’ chest, dummy dangling from his mouth, just like he used to when he was a baby. It’s somehow impossible to equate that tiny creature to this little boy. Louis shifts back into the corner of the couch, not ready to bring him back to his cot.

“Just keep him here,” Niall murmurs. “It’ll probably make you both feel better.” He’s not wrong; in the dim hush of the sitting room, seeing for himself that Freddie’s really all right, hearing his breath move strongly in and out of his body, Louis can finally fully relax.

Niall moves back over to sit by him, and hands him more pizza - truly brilliant, genius even, since he can still eat with the hand that’s not supporting Freddie. It’s awkward but doable, bringing him back to newborn days when he and Bri would laugh about getting crumbs in the baby’s hair.

“Want to watch something for a while?” Niall asks quietly, picking up the remote.

“Yes, please,” Louis says. He glances over at Niall, who is slumped back and looking pretty out of it himself. “Will you stay?” he asks, more nervous than he should be. “It’s just. I know it doesn’t make sense, I know he’s fine, but I...dunno, feel better with someone else in the house, I guess.”

“Was going to ask if I could,” Niall says, smiling sleepily at him. “I’m fucking wrecked, don’t feel like driving home.” He scratches his jaw, slowly flicking through titles. “What’re you up for? Think Thor: Ragnarok just came out.”

“Doubt it’s on Netflix yet,” Louis says. “How about Captain America: Winter Soldier?” Niall turns his head to look fully at him, raising his eyebrows.

“Louis William,” he says, “we’ve seen that four times already.” Freddie stirs, then, as if in protest; even in sleep, supporting his dad.

“We haven’t,” Louis whispers, shifting Freddie more solidly against him. But they have, at least; one time, Niall was probably too drunk to remember.

“Bollix. The only thing I’ve seen more is Step Brothers. Think you’ve got to branch out, mate.” He keeps flipping through titles. “Here we go.” He stops on Spider-Man: Homecoming, raising an eyebrow in question. He reaches over to hand Louis a fresh lager.

“Could do,” Louis half-agrees, resettling Freddie against his shoulder so he can take the can. Niall smiles and queues it up.

“You’d be a good Spider-Man, I think,” Niall says, through an enormous yawn. “You’ve got that cute and clever thing going.”

They’re about forty minutes into the film when Louis literally feels Freddie cool down in his arms, and gets up to take him to his cot. Niall’s conked out on the couch, mouth half-open. He knows well enough how jet lag and tour hangover do a number on a person - Niall won’t thank him if he wakes him up right now. He throws a blanket over him and lowers the lights to the dimmest possible setting, heading to bed himself. God knows they’ll have time to talk, at some point; at some point, they’ll probably have nothing but time.

**~~~**

In retrospect, chances were pretty good that they’d both show up to Kimmie’s wedding wearing the same fucking white shirt and black suit.

“Looking good, Tommo,” Niall shouts at him from halfway down the reception line, leaning out to give him a thumbs up as the guests nearby laugh. At least their ties are a little different.

The ceremony was lovely, Kim and Simon are a beautiful couple; it’s nice catching up with friends he hasn’t seen for a while, even if he can’t concentrate thanks to the constant proximity of a certain Irishman.

Maybe love is in the air, floating at large like a free radical, but knowing Niall’s around puts him on high alert, puts all his molecules into overdrive. When Niall stops by his table a few hours into the evening, he can almost feel him coming; the skin on the back of his neck tightens and then Niall’s there, scratching his fingers through the back of Louis’ hair. Louis tilts his face up to look at him.

“Hallo,” Niall says, his tie is lost and his hair is mussed, voice gone gravelly like he’s been shouting. “Time for shots?”

“Dunno about that,” Louis says, smiling and him at gesturing at the table; everyone he knows has left, but he’s been chatting with someone’s auntie. She’s got no idea who he is but has a grandson Freddie’s age. “I’m mingling.”

Niall bends over, resting his chin on Louis’ shoulder. “Whatever. Can’t avoid me forever.” He grabs Louis’ hand and pulls him up from the table, towing him toward the bar at the back of the room. Louis’ got just enough time to nod apologetically towards Auntie Carol, who waves him off with a smile.

“I’m not,” Louis says, tugging them to a stop and talking to the back of Niall’s head. “It’s you avoiding me.” Niall turns around, quick enough to make his head spin.

“If I am,” he says, coming in close enough to brush their chests together, “it’s ‘cause I need to.” Niall cringes at his own line but stays close.

“What -” Louis starts, shaking his head.

Niall backs up, apology flitting across his face. “Sorry, you just look…” he eyes Louis up and down, “really good.”

In another universe, Louis snaps his fingers and burns the wedding hall down, and they shag themselves senseless in the flames and ashes. In this universe, he has to keep his shit together so none of that happens **.**

Shots have become definitely, urgently necessary, so he lets Niall lead him to the bar for a round. One turns into two, of course, since they have to toast to the bride and groom separately.

Lowering his glass, his heart jumps into his mouth; Niall’s watching him, eyes dark, his own shot still untouched. Reaching out, he swipes his thumb against Louis’ lower lip, gathering a drop of whiskey there, and puts his finger in his own mouth for a moment.

“Jesus,” Louis groans, “are you trying to kill me?” Niall grins wickedly and downs his shot. Thank god Kimmie finds them just then, because he’s not sure how long he can be responsible for good behavior.

“There you are!” she says, and she really is glowing. “Come and dance with me. No one else will.” She grabs their hands, dragging them to the dance area - Niall shrugs, and he’s always game for it, so neither of them puts up a fight.

It doesn’t hurt that Boom, Boom, Boom, Boom!! is blasting from the speakers; at least they’ve got something to work with. It’s lovely, seeing Kim like this, lit up from the inside on her own wedding night; and - like Niall - she’s always been an interesting dancer. It takes about three seconds until the two of them are bouncing around like absolute morons, Niall flailing his arms awkwardly and laughing his arse off, while Kim lopsidedly pirouettes.

“Nice dad moves,” Louis yells at him, twirling Kimmie under his arm. She trips on her dress mid-spin, and they’d both go down if it weren’t for Niall reaching out to steady them.

“Sorry,” she says. “Think I’m a bit drunker than I should be for this.”

“No worries, love,” Louis says. “But I think we’ve got competition coming.” He nods at Simon, who’s making his way over to them.

“Excuse me,” he says, smiling around. “If you don’t mind too terribly, I’d like to dance with my wife.” Kim fake-swoons but takes his hand; they waltz off across the floor.

The song changes, something slinky and low with a bass line that lodges right at the bottom of his spine. Niall lifts an eyebrow and shifts closer, a smile slowly breaking across his face. They’re both sweaty and breathing hard. Louis laughs a little, starting to pull away.

“None of that, now,” Niall says, reeling him back in with a hand on the back of his neck. Louis lets out a breath that he knows is shaky and goes with it. He could break away, make an excuse, get another drink - but he doesn’t. Niall’s cheeks are flushed with exertion and his eyes seem insanely blue; standing this close, Louis can feel his breath against his chin.

Niall, who still hasn’t broken eye contact, reaching for Louis’ hips and starting to move them in tandem to the beat. Niall, who is smart and dumb and broad and funny and has been creeping up on him like some sexy vine for months. It’s scary as ever and hot as hell, and he’s floored by how much he wants Niall’s mouth on him, right now. While he’s known for a lot of things, patience isn’t one of them - so he puts his hand against the small of Niall’s back, digging his fingers into the damp fabric there, and leans in even closer, dragging his mouth up Niall’s neck. Niall sucks in a breath and groans quietly into Louis’ hair.

“Oi,” Louis says, lips on Niall’s ear in exactly that spot he knows makes him crazy. “What the fuck are we doing?”

“Dancing, I think,” Niall says, slipping a finger through the gap in Louis’ shirt to stroke his stomach. “It’s a wedding. Traditional. Friendly.” He puts his hand on Niall’s to stop him while he still can. People could be watching and in this moment he honestly could not give a fuck, but someone’s got to remember the bigger picture.

“That all, Nialler?”

“Hope not,” Niall says, grinning and looking right at him. “Wore a nice suit. Sorted my hair, even. Hate to put all that work to waste.”

The song ends and it’s like coming up for air. He takes a step back and Niall lets him, this time. Niall runs a hand through his hair, sticking it up at odd ends. It’s hopelessly endearing.

“Think I...” Niall starts, licking his lips. Louis watches his tongue track along his bottom lip; since there’s no point in pretending he’s not looking, he trails his eyes further down to Niall’s chest, heaving under his open shirt. “Eyes are up here, mate.”

“Shut it. You’re the model - not my fault you’re so fit, is it?”

Niall smiles at him and takes a step forward, almost inadvertently. “Gonna go for some water. Want anything?” He waves his hand toward the bar.

“‘m alright, thanks,” Louis says, moving back towards the wall. Niall touches his arm, light and quick, scalding him like a fucking brand. What honestly is the point of having so many nerve endings in useless places, he’ll never know.

“Good. Stay put,” Niall says, brushing his thumb in the crook of his elbow. “I’ll be back in two shakes.”

At loose ends for a bit, Louis leans against the wall and watches people dance, alcohol and desire bubbling up his veins. Not a lot of moments feel this good, like something’s about to split open - and he’s actually ready for it, for once, not caught by surprise. In that stealthy way he has, Niall’s given him space and time, it’s a fucking gift. Right in front of him, a mother is dancing with her little girl; she looks a few years older than Freddie but is obviously up too late. Against her mum’s shoulder, she’s on the cusp of sleep, and the look on her face is so familiar it makes his throat ache.

Then Niall’s back, popping up in front of him so suddenly he starts, bumping his head against the wall.

“Warn a bloke next time,” Louis says, smacking him in the chest. Niall just throws his head back and laughs.

“Sorry to interrupt your wool gathering,” Niall says, not looking sorry in the slightest. He’s still smiling, but the look on his face is intent. “Come with me.”

“Well, that was straight to the point. Always did like that about you.” Niall rolls his eyes and grabs him by the wrist, pulling him back along the wall. He tugs him through a door tucked behind a big potted palm plant; it swings shut behind them and the wedding noise fades away. The hallway is oddly empty, it must lead to the kitchen - he can hear the distant clink of plates and laughter, in sharp counterpoint to his own loud breathing. Niall turns and falls back against the wall, dragging him with; off balance for a second, Louis lands against his chest.

“Oof,” Niall grunts.

“Did it to yourself, didn’t you?” Louis pushes off a little, arms braced against the wall on either side. Niall smells better than he has any right to, Tom Ford and sweat and whiskey twisting low in his gut. Niall turns his head and bites his wrist, not hard but enough to feel it; sucks for a second on the bite mark.

“Shit,” Louis says, **“** what are you doing?” Niall’s flush is spreading down his chest now, disappearing into his shirt.

“Seducing you. Thought that’d be obvious. Do I need to be more obvious?” He curls his fingers into Louis’ waistband and brings him in the last inch, slotting their legs together. His breath fans over Louis’ mouth, but he doesn’t move any closer; it’s maddening. “Want to get the ride from ya,” he says, putting on his thickest accent. “Want your knob in me gob. Want -”

“Enough,” Louis groans and drops his head against Niall’s shoulder while he cackles. Even laughing, Louis can feel him half-hard against his thigh.

“Is it? Am I getting through?” Niall asks, shifting a bit against him.

“Subtle as a jackhammer **,** as usual,” Louis mutters into the fabric of his shirt. “Do you really think this is a good idea?” Through the door, he can hear strains of the wedding continuing on. No one’s come their way yet, an unlikely stroke of luck.

“Yeah. Think it’s brilliant. Wrote out a fucking list and everything.” His left hand is in Louis’ hair, playing with the short strands at the back of his neck. His other hand squeezes his hip, rocking Louis forward into his thigh. “I’m all go. Only one question left.” Louis exhales into the crook of his neck, lets him do the work for now. “Lou.” He scoots Niall’s shirt over and scrapes his teeth against his shoulder, tasting the tangy smooth skin there. _“Lou.”_

“Jesus, what is it.” He lifts his head, finally. Niall’s splayed against the wall, head tipped back, shirt askew. “Shit, you’re...” He slips his hand up the front of Niall’s shirt, just to feel his stomach tense and skitter, “unbelievable.” Knowing where this is headed makes his own stomach swoop; they’re pretty far down the path of no return. Niall’s the one who stops him, this time, grabbing his hand before his can explore too much.

“Tell me you want this,” Niall says. His face is relaxed as ever, but his eyes are a little wild. Louis can feel his heartbeat shaking his stomach. He grins and flexes his nails into the soft skin there, just to hear Niall gasp, glad it’s not just him so worked up from a minimal grope in the bloody kitchen hallway.

“Say it,” Niall says, mouth set.

“God, when did you become such a pain in the arse?” Niall just looks at him. “You know I do,” Louis says, grinding against him for good measure. Niall gathers himself and pushes him back, gently, keeping a hand on his hip.

“Then go drink some water and get yourself sorted,” Niall says, eyes flicking down to his mouth. “If we’re doing this, don’t want you half ossified.”

“That’s grossly unfair,” Louis says, “Haven’t even gotten a proper snog in.” Niall steps forward again and slides the hand on Louis’ hip down and around, fully palming his dick. Like it’s coming from someone else, Louis hears himself whimpering.

“You’re just gonna have to wait. I’m going back out for a bit, you should too.” He nudges Louis towards the door. Since neither crying nor banging his head against the wall are suitable options, he turns to walk away.

“And then what?” Louis asks, over his shoulder. Niall shrugs, adjusting himself in his trousers.

“When you’re ready to go, just...let me know if you want me with you, I guess.”

“Aren’t you -” Louis jerks his head toward the door.

“I need another minute,” Niall says, blushing and trying to smooth his shirt. “Make a holy show going out like this, thanks to you.”

Back out in the main hall, he finds an empty table and sits for an entire song to get his head on straight. It’s getting late; couples have paired up on the dance floor or started to head out together. It’s a massive stroke of luck that he might get to do both tonight, himself.

He’s chugging water at the bar when his neck prickles, and for once in his life it’s just like the pictures, because he turns his head and there’s Niall, standing not two meters away and having a laugh with Tom, an arm hooked around his neck. They lock eyes and time actually slows down. They can’t stay frozen like that forever, so eventually he blinks and looks away.

After that, it’s hard to take his eyes off him; and every time he looks, Niall’s looking back - bright and steady, sure. That surety has meant a lot over the last year, but he’s never appreciated it as much as he does tonight.

Louis finally calls it when the DJ puts on Slow Hands - either because Kimmie put him up to it or because it’s a proper tune, he’ll never know. Niall’s up on some bloke’s shoulders, another button undone, mouthing along to his own song ( _‘Cause I want you baaad…_ ) and looking Louis right in the eyes as he smirks, and that’s when Louis texts his driver.

Louis approaches them, nerves and anticipation swirling in his gut. Nodding at the bloke, he flicks Niall’s good knee. “Car’s on its way, Nialler.” Niall smiles down at him, completely at ease, and then taps his human steed on the head.

“Soz, he’s my ride,” Niall says, winking at Louis. He climbs down without hurting his knee somehow, and they take a lap of the room, saying their goodbyes. Kim and Simon seem in it for the long haul, but Kim gives them both a tight hug. They get their coats and navigate their way outside, careful not to touch, an unspoken agreement pushing them apart like magnets.

Stepping out into the winter night is almost like landing on another planet. The sky is clear and cold above them, and it’s densely quiet outside the manor as they wait for the car on the brick walk. The house’s dramatic landscape lights turn them both into something strange, lit up and shadowed in equal measure.

Louis buttons Niall carefully into his coat, making a show of being extremely professional about it. “You’ll catch your death,” he says, hands flicking through the buttons with practiced ease, only slightly more difficult with the cigarette in his hand. Hands stuffed in his pockets, Niall leans into his touch slightly. He looks tired; the tip of his nose is turning pink. It calms his nerves, somehow - such a normal detail, Niall looking shitty and tired, used to be an everyday part of his life. It’s hard to be nervous when he thinks about it that way.

“Whose place are we going to, then?” Louis asks, tugging him a little bit closer. “Or is it a fancy hotel? Will there be rose petals?” he asks, fluttering his eyelashes.

“What -”

“I deserve rose petals, Niall. I’ve got six types of tooth floss in me jacket, I’m ready for anything.”

Niall’s laugh bursts out of him, a little cloud of white steam in the frigid air. “Fresh out of rose petals, I’m afraid. Could throw some crazy socks around,” Niall cringes slightly, likely thinking about the mess that would make. “Is Freddie here or in LA?”

“LA,” Louis says, tossing his cigarette on the ground.

“So yours is in a tip,” Niall says, half-smiling and raising his eyebrows. Over his shoulder, Louis can see the car’s lights approaching down the drive.

“Hey,” he protests, pinching Niall’s ear. “You’re right, but that’s unnecessary. We can’t all be diligently tidy.”

“So we’re going to mine,” Niall says, running the ends of Louis’ scarf through his fingers and edging closer, still.

“Depends. Will I have to fold my shirt, or can I just throw it on the floor?” Niall looks at him for a second, eyes hot; he’s opening his mouth to reply just as the car pulls up in front of them. Niall shakes his head as if he’s shaking something off.

“After you,” Niall says instead, gesturing toward the SUV. Louis gets in first and Niall follows, keeping a prim distance between them on the cold leather seats. He gives Niall’s address to Paul and settles into his seat.

The back of the car is quiet and dark, especially after Paul rolls up the privacy partition. Niall’s a pale blur in the corner of his eye, opening and closing all the compartments, fidgeting with the temperature controls, but not saying anything; it’s driving him mad. It’ll be a long trip back to London, with sobriety looming on the near horizon. He takes a deep breath. The sound of the wheels on the road is relaxing; Niall’s familiar scent in the car is relaxing, the nice buzz of it hums up his veins. The silence grows between them - their own invisible partition, soft and endless. The rustling of Niall peeling his coat off is what finally breaks it.

“Niall,” Louis says, voice loud in the back seat. “Did you really make a list?”

“I did,” he says, shrugging his last arm free.

“Tell it to me,” Louis says, “I don’t want to fall asleep.” Niall slides over the seat, close but not touching; the few inches separating them seem huge and electric.

“I’ll tell you the first half, anyway,” he says. Since Niall is still not touching him - which is colossally unfair - Louis reaches out and lays his hand on Niall’s wrist, stroking a finger down the soft underside. Niall suppresses a shiver, turning his hand over to slip his fingers into Louis’, giving them a squeeze.

“First is that spot at the bottom of your spine. Above the curve of your bum. Christ, I’ve wanted to get my mouth on it for ages.” He strokes his thumb across the back of Louis’ hand; he suppresses a shiver of his own. “Second, what your scruff will feel like on my stomach.” He lifts their joined hands to Louis’ face, “except you’ve just shaved, so that’s out.”

“Had to, you chafe so easy,” Louis somehow gets the words out, making a superhuman effort. Sinking into the seat and Niall’s soft vowels, he’s both turned on and sleepy, a combination that makes him feel good all over.

“It’s all right, I like revising. Like right now.” He separates their hands and runs his thumbnail up the outside of Louis’ thigh, through his suit trousers. “Number three. Could find out how hard I can get you without touching you at all,” he says, leaning in to put his lips by Louis’ ear. “Just by talking to you. Telling you how I much want you, all the places I’m gonna -“

“Shut, shut up.” He puts his hand over Niall’s mouth, feels the curve of his lips against it. It’s bloody ridiculous. Niall scrapes his teeth against Louis’ palm - keeping his hand there is not helping his situation. “You’re a fucking dirty bastard, aren’t you?”

“Pure filth,” he agrees, unashamed, and then ruins the effect with a huge yawn. “Lucky for both of us - and Paul - we’re a bit past shagging in the car.”

“We are? Because I’m definitely not.” Louis says. “Past it, I mean. For your reference.”

“Not going to have sex with you for the first time in the backseat of a car,” Niall mutters. Louis can just make out his blush in the darkness.

“Put in on your next list, then,” Louis says, ignoring _for the first time,_ for now. “The one titled, “for when I’m not a stick in the mud.”

“Fuck off,” Niall says, fondness rippling through his voice.

“Back to the actual list,” Louis says, through his own yawn. “What about this second half?”

“That part’s for later, maybe.” Niall says, leaning back and tipping his head against the seat. Louis moves over finally, laying his head on Niall’s shoulder. Niall’s fingertips are rough against his as the dark blur of scenery speeds past the window; there’s a question in him that wants to come out.

“Aren’t you worried? About - well, everything?” Louis asks, waving his free hand in the air. “Our jobs, our friendship, the lads?” He feels it sharply himself, the line of people he’s left behind like wreckage, one of the inevitable effects of being close to him. _Don’t go there_ , he knows, _that road’s no good._

“Of course,” Niall says. “Been bricking it the whole time. What’s the worst that can happen, though? You saying no, really.” He loops his fingers around Louis' wrist. “Or - if you did say yes - me not lasting more than two minutes. Which could happen, by the way.” Under his cheek, Louis can feel Niall’s shoulder shaking as he laughs, then tensing as he straightens up, nudging Louis off to face him properly.

“Remember what I said, last January?” Niall asks. Louis swallows and nods, pressing Niall’s hand; it’s one of those things he’ll never forget. “I meant it then. I’ll always mean it.”

And then Louis has to kiss him, backseat and Paul be damned. He cups Niall’s face in his hands and gives it everything he has: it’s slow and sleepy and slick, their tongues sliding together like the best song. Here, with Niall pressed against him, kissing the doubt and impossibility out of him; he’s happy for now with just this. If he only ever got just this, it would be enough.

“Who’s ridiculous now?” Louis asks, pulling away. Niall’s eyes are heavy, and his mouth is red. “Two minutes for you means less work for me. It sounds brilliant, I can’t wait.”

Niall laughs again and sits back all the way, grabbing his coat and spreading it over them like a blanket. “In the meantime, though. I’m bushed. Want a kip?”

“Could do,” Louis says, leaning up against him. He’s got a warm coat and a warm Niall; it doesn’t take long to drift off.

He wakes up to Niall scratching his scalp. “Get up, we’re here.”

He blinks, his eyes and mouth are gritty. Niall sits up, pushing him fully upright. “Unfair,” he groans. His muscles are too warm and full of jelly; he probably won’t ever be able to move again. It’s a terrible tragedy.

Niall taps on the privacy partition; Louis curls up on the seat as the glass lowers. “Thanks for the ride,” Niall says to Paul. “I’ll get this one home tomorrow.”

“All right,” Paul says. “Want help getting him out?”

“I’ll manage,” Niall says, poking Louis in the leg. “Have a good night.”

Winter air blasts into the car when Niall opens the door, more proof that god hates him. “Carry me,” he says, lifting his arms.

“Poor baby,” Niall says heartlessly, reaching into the car to grab Louis’s feet, pulling him toward the door. “I’ll wrap you up in my coat. I think you’ll live.”

Niall looks pretty bleary himself, shivering in the brittle air in just his suit jacket. He walks behind Louis, propelling him to the door, fingers low on his back.

Still half-asleep, they tumble up the steps and into the house. Niall doesn’t turn any lights on, thank god, and he’s waking up little by little as they make their way through the familiar dark rooms.

Niall halts him in the kitchen, fetching glasses out of his cupboard and filling them with water from the refrigerator dispenser. Louis slumps against the center island, body still in protest.

“Hungry?” Niall asks, handing him one of the glasses and leaning up next to him, arm just brushing his.

He shakes his head and takes a drink. The glass is cool against his fingertips; the water is cool in his mouth. The microwave tells him it’s after one a.m., the witching hours where everything is both more and not real at all - where you have to mind what you say, the things you might put into existence.

Niall must read his silence as tiredness. “Come on, I’ll get you something to sleep in,” Niall says, nudging Louis with his elbow. They make their way to Niall’s room; it doesn’t escape him that they’re going to bed together, one way or the other. He’s not nervous anymore, at least, flopping down on the bed while Niall uses the loo.

Niall reappears in a few minutes, reaching a hand down to haul him up. “Your turn,” he says, smelling minty and pushing Louis toward the loo, where has a piss and splashes some water on his face. Of course Niall’s left a toothbrush on the counter for him, so he does that, too. By the time he’s done, he’s definitely arriving at the shore of awake, anticipation buzzing through him like a doorbell.

Louis steps out into the bedroom, and his breath catches in his throat. Mid-change, Niall is standing by the bed, shirtless and holding his vest in his hands. The golden light coming from the closet is lapping him all over - and it’s easy, suddenly, wanting him. Better, knowing that Niall wants him, too, even after everything.

Niall holds himself perfectly still while Louis walks over, not moving even when Louis stops in front of him, even when he pulls the t-shirt out of his hands and drops it on the floor. He sucks in a breath when Louis starts touching him, loud in the quiet room.

It’d be easier to stop if Niall wasn’t so fucking smooth and warm. If his shoulders weren’t broad and slightly salty. If the cut of his bicep weren’t made for the sharp scrape of Louis’ teeth, if he didn’t groan and bite his lip when Louis flicks his thumbs over his nipples. But Niall just stands there for once, breathing hard, letting Louis get his fill.

Louis looks up from tracing the edges of Niall’s hip bones where they jut out from his trousers, the shadows sharp beneath his hands. Niall's eyes are huge and dark, and there’s a look on his face that Louis’ never seen before. He makes a sound, takes Louis’ face in his hands, and kisses him.

Under the hungry spell of Niall’s mouth, the rest of his tiredness falls away. Niall kisses him deeply, running his hands down his chest and back up again. All the tension from earlier snaps through him and he pulls Niall closer, palming his arse and rubbing against him. Niall groans and brings his hands to rest on the front of Louis’ shirt, giving it questioning tug.

“Do it,” Louis says, voice rasping out in the quiet room. Niall starts to open his shirt, hands unsteady on the buttons.

“Shit,” Niall laughs, exhaling heavily and pausing his work, Louis’ shirt still half undone.

“All right, love?” Louis asks, covering Niall’s hands with his own. Niall presses their foreheads together for a long moment, lifting Louis’ hand to his heart, the pulse running away there.

“Not even a little,” Niall says. “I want you so much.” Louis’ stomach flips over. Niall dips forward to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Is this OK?”

“It’s fucking great, don’t be stupid,” Louis says, running his hands down the warm skin of Niall’s stomach. “Could be better, though,” he adds. “We could be naked and, like, over there,” he waves to the bed behind them.

That must be the last straw for Niall, he guesses, who seems to have grown ten hands, because his shirt flies off, he has no idea what’s become of it, and then Niall is all over him - his eleven mouths are everywhere, sucking on his tongue, skimming down his neck, nipping at his chest and it’s like being made out of hot lava, actually, if hot lava had a knob that was suddenly extremely hard.

Niall runs his finger along the edge of Louis’ trousers, hovering over the front. “Is this OK?” he asks, flicking the front tab open.

“Oh my god, Niall,” Louis says, trying to press into Niall’s hand and shimmy his trousers down at the same time. “You talk more than me, if that’s even possible.” Niall grins and pushes him onto the bed, leaning over to pull his trousers off the rest of the way.

“Just filling time,” he laughs. “Gotta stretch it out, if I’m only meant to last two minutes.”

A second later Niall’s there, too, mostly bare and laying next to Louis on the bed. He smiles at him for a moment, the big smile that’s pure happiness, then shoves Louis onto his back to straddle him. He almost passes out when Niall settles his arse right over his cock.

“Fucking hell,” he groans, rocking up helplessly while Niall laughs, the wanker.

“Number four,” he says, picking up Louis’ hands and kissing the insides of his wrists. Niall could hold both his wrists in one hand if he wanted to; he’s surprised by how much he hopes that’s somewhere on the list. “Your tattoos. Shouldn’t be so fucking sexy, but they are.” He bends to run his tongue along the edge of the script across Louis’ chest; Louis sinks his fingers into Niall’s hair, holding him there, trying to get a handle on his breathing.

“Five. This.” Niall straightens up and traces the line of hair that leads down Louis’ stomach and into his shorts with a fingernail; his hips shoot up again. It’s like being shagged by a hurricane, he feels so fucking good; it’s overwhelming.

Niall lifts off of him, ignoring Louis’ groan of protest, intent on his task. He works his way down Louis’ legs and hooks his fingers in the waistband of his boxers.

“Is this OK?” he asks, hovering over Louis’ legs. He’s flushed all down his chest, his hair is wild, and Louis can see where his pants are tented. He’s a lucky bastard; how he deserves any of this, he doesn’t know.

“No,” he says. “Yes. Stop asking so many questions.”

Then Niall’s mouth surrounds him, and he forgets what he was going to say next. Niall works him over with a purpose; it’s all he can do to clench his fingers in the sheet and try his best not to thrust while his body hurtles to the finish line. It doesn’t take long before he’s there.

“Gonna - I’m -” he rasps, squeezing Niall’s shoulder. But Niall stays where he is, looking up at Louis through his eyelashes, and rubs one of his twelve tongues hard against the underside of his head and then Louis is coming his brains out, for ages, seems like.

He’s vaguely aware of Niall coming back to lay next to him again, running his fingers through the sweat drying on his chest. He lolls his head over on the pillow: Niall looks pleased with himself, as he should. Louis’ not sure if he'll ever be able to move again.

“You've killed me,” he says, running a finger over Niall’s lower lip before leaning in to kiss himself off of it.

“Kind of in a state, here,” Niall says, pulling his face back and rubbing against Louis’ leg. “Try to get it together.”

And he wants to, is the thing; can’t wait to make Niall feel the same way, blissed out and glowy, like his blood is full of stars. It takes a second to adjust to the weight of someone else’s knob in his grasp, unfamiliar but good. But his hands and arms aren’t catching on, and when he tries to wank him, it’s like moving in slow motion. Niall swats his hand away.

“You’re useless,” he says, smiling and replacing Louis’ hand with his own.

“Not me fault,” Louis whinges. “Let me help, at least.” He reaches again for Niall’s prick; Niall twines their hands together and sets a steady rhythm, burying his face in Louis’ neck. Niall’s breath fans through his hair, hot and unsteady. It doesn’t take long before he tenses all over and swells in their hands, and the strangled sound he makes when he comes is one of the best things Louis’ ever heard; he thinks he’ll remember it for the rest of his life.

After a few minutes, Niall somehow summons the energy to get a warm flannel to clean them up; he’s a truly amazing person. Louis is barely awake when he feels Niall come back to bed, sliding close and dropping a kiss on his shoulder. And although it’s quiet and he’s exhausted in every possible way, he can’t nod off just yet.

“Are you going to say something?” Louis asks.

“Hmmm?” Niall hums. It takes a few seconds before he drags an answer out, snaking an arm over Louis’ chest to anchor him firmly in place. Louis sighs; Niall’s warmth laps over him like a heated blanket. “Gonna say a lot of things, I hope.”

“Yeah?” Louis asks, running his hand up and down Niall’s arm.

“Just not right now, when we’re both shattered.” He shrugs, or tries to, cuddled as close as he is. “Plus, it’s that part of night…”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. He knows what Niall’s getting at.

“...where nothing counts. Or everything does,” Niall continues, anyway. “I’ve never really worked that out. So if you want to stay,” he gives a cracking yawn, “then I’ll tell you all of it in the morning, if you still want to hear it.”

“So fucking dramatic,” Louis says. “If this is all a lead up to how much you fancy pancakes for breakfast...” he yawns himself; sleep is fast approaching.

“What?” Niall asks, weaving their legs together and nuzzling into Louis’ neck.

“Dunno. I’ll be disappointed, I guess.”

“Gobshite,” Niall mutters. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Don’t I know it,” Louis says, brushing his fingers down the back of Niall’s neck. “Now shut up so I can go to sleep.”

*******

In the morning, Louis shocks them both by waking up first. Or at least, he’s secure in his certainty that Niall would be shocked if he were awake, which he is not. Turned on his side away from Louis, the pale morning washes over Niall’s back, slowly moving up and down as he breathes. It’s so simple but it’s never been so complicated; his throat closes unexpectedly, and he rolls out of the bed.

After having a piss, he gives into the inevitable pull of mirror self-scrutiny. In the cold light, he looks pale and tired but most of all, just like himself - the same person who has fucked up almost every relationship he’s ever had, and still has the balls to give it a go with someone so dear to him he can’t put words to it.

But Niall had a point, last night: the things that are true at two a.m. are still true at ten a.m., just harder to face with the lights on. Awake, knowing that Niall is in the next room, his heart picks up speed; that giant bird who lives in him is crowing and spreading its wings. And why fucking not? Oli wasn’t wrong, all those months ago - they both deserve something good. He hopes that Niall is still sleeping and that this doesn’t go to shit; he hopes that he can stay. Relaxing his grip on the vanity top, he tries to channel some of Niall’s fearlessness - not all of it, just a lick; just enough to make it through the door.

Niall’s not there when he gets out of the loo, so he has another minute to try to put himself together. Suddenly cold, he pulls on the vest left out for him last night; it shores him up, helps tie him to the moment.

He finds Niall in the kitchen, measuring beans for coffee into the grinder. He’s in just a pair of shorts, and it’s unfair, knowing what all that skin feels and tastes like, but not what to do about it.

“‘Morning,” he gets out, around the giant stone lodged in his throat.

Niall half turns to smile sleepily at him and suddenly things slot into place again, easy peasy. Niall looks at him for an extra second and puts the scoop down carefully on the counter. His arms are warm and strong when he gathers Louis up for a cuddle, and he still smells of sweat and sex and something entirely Niall. Louis bows his head against his shoulder, looping his arms loosely around Niall’s waist; a whole brownstone just got lifted off his chest.

“You idiot,” Niall says fondly, bumping their heads together. “You could have gotten me up.”

“For what?” Louis asks, still muffled in Niall’s shoulder.

“Instead of having a freak out by yourself.” He doesn’t bother to refute it, just squeezes Niall harder for a second. Niall pulls back a few inches.

“Was it that obvious?” Louis asks, frowning. Niall raises his eyebrows: _of course it was, you dope._ He’s still wrapped up around him, it’s a comfort.

“I’m not the best at this part, anymore,” Louis admits.

“Me, either. Never have been.” Niall says, flicking his eyes down to Louis’ mouth. “Had a plan, though. Then I woke up and you were missing.”

“You like plans,” Louis says, moving in closer. Niall tastes like morning breath and sunshine, and he actually shivers when Louis licks into his mouth. Despite the emotional upheavals of his short morning, Louis’ dick is quickly taking interest in the proceedings.

And shit, sometimes life really is like the pictures because Niall honest to god lifts him up and sets him on the kitchen counter, and they get off like teenagers for a few minutes. He’s busy sucking a love bite into Niall’s shoulder when Niall disengages himself with an effort, half hard against the inside of Louis’ thigh.

“Sorry, I’m not -” Niall tries to catch his breath. “I’m not trying to shag you again,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “Not right now, at least. Sorry.”

“Why not?” Louis asks, brushing his hand against Niall’s knob. Niall presses into him almost involuntarily and it’s pretty great, being wanted like that.

“Well I want to, obviously, but…” he trails off, touching the edge of Louis’s collarbone. Louis hooks his ankles around the back of Niall’s thighs, pulling him in close again.

“But what?” he asks, smirking. “Lost you there.”

“You’re the absolute worst,” Niall says, stepping back for a few inches of separation. “I just. I wanted to have a chat first, like…” he hesitates, mouth twisting. “Cards on the table and that.”

Louis winces. “At this delicate hour?” He groans and wiggles off the counter; Niall backs up to give him some room.

“It’s half ten, I’m hardly a monster.” Niall says, rolling his eyes.

“Best put the coffee on, then. I’ll need fortification if shit’s about to get heavy.”

Niall turns away to finish making the coffee; Louis could watch the muscles in his back shift and flex all day.

“Figure we’ve got a few minutes before it’s done, yeah?” Louis asks, hopping back up on the counter. “I’ve got an idea for how we can spend the time.”

“Do you, now?” Niall says, stepping closer, letting Louis reel him in. “Hands above the waist, Tomlinson.”

Louis brings their mouth together, slowly; if he’s got five minutes, he’s going to make it count. Niall’s beard is rough against his fingers, and his lips are swollen from before. He strokes their tongues together, sliding his hand into the hair at the back of Niall’s neck; when he gives it a tug, Niall grunts and kisses him harder, rocking his hips the tiniest bit.

It doesn’t help that neither of them is fully dressed, not much separating them when Louis grinds right back. He pulls his mouth away, starting to feel a little desperate.

“Shit. Shit. Why are you like this?” Louis pants, shaking his head to clear it.

“Like what?” Niall asks. His pupils are huge, like he’s hanging by a thread himself.

“So fucking fit. Jesus, Niall.” He spreads his hands across Niall’s chest, and starts dragging them lower. It’s against the rules, but they both just watch him do it. Niall’s gone still again, contained; he wants to destroy it, all that useless control. The coffee maker beeps - impeccable bloody timing - and Niall steps away from his hands.

“Let me just throw on a top,” Niall says, taking another step back. Louis catches his wrist before he can get too far.

“Don’t,” he says. He jumps down from the counter again, grabbing two coffee mugs from the cupboard. “Sit down, I’ll get your coffee.” Niall listens, for a wonder, stepping past him to the breakfast bar.

“Will it be drinkable?” he asks, pulling back a stool.

“Quit whinging, it’ll put hair on your chest. More hair, anyway.”

Louis settles himself across from Niall, carefully sliding the mug of hot beverage across the countertop. Niall’s been visibly kissed, but his face has completely shut down - it’s impossible to know what he’s thinking, he’s always been so good at that.

“So. Second half,” Niall says, flushing and breaking the spell. He looks down at his coffee for a long moment, chewing his lip. Louis’ not sure what’s coming next, but dollars to doughnuts it won’t be pretty. Why put them both through it?

“Hey,” Louis says, “I’ve got this.” Niall shakes his head, but Louis keeps talking, putting on his best Irish accent. “Second half. ‘ _I’m only 24, got me whole life ahead of me. The single life suits me down to the ground.’”_ Now that he’s started, he just needs to plough through. He stares at a spot over Niall’s shoulder and keeps on. “ _‘And I’m a model now, not looking to settle down.’_ ” He laughs, though it comes out strangled, trying hard to sink his own battleship. If it’s for the greater good, why does it feel like sandpaper’s scratching out the inside of his chest?

“Louis,” Niall says, “you’ve completely lost the plot.” He reaches over and flicks him in the forehead. “I’ve been working out how to tell you I fancy you, you imbecile. Have been…” his blush deepens as he looks into his cup again. “I have for some time.” He stops his own mouth by taking a long drink of his coffee, glancing up once he’s finished.

“How long?” Louis can be gentle now that he’s made a complete arse of himself; it’s not the first time.

“Dunno, exactly. Do you want me to bring up my spreadsheet?” Like a complete dickhead, he pulls up his pretend laptop. “Here it is,” he says, pointing at his imaginary computer screen. “It was the first day of kindergarten. You had your hair in braids - “

“Who’s the idiot now?” Louis asks. “I’m actually serious, though. Since when?”

“There’s only so many times I can watch you run around stage in a soaked shirt, mate. Bound to happen eventually.” He takes another drink of his coffee, cheeks still pinked up.

“That’s...a long time, Niall. Bit longer than I was expecting.”

“Haven’t exactly been pining for you, have I?” Niall shrugs, unapologetic.

“Fair play, I suppose not,” he says. “Way to deflate the ego, though.”

“Anyway, my point is.” Niall takes a deep breath, eyes steady. “You look good here. At my table, in my top.” He looks Louis’ up and down for a second, mouth tipping up at one corner. “You looked good in my bed. And if…” He swallows, pushes on. “I want to give it a proper go. Not just shagging, like, the total package.”

Louis blinks and takes a drink of his own coffee - grown cold, now - to buy some time; he has to wait for the blood to stop rushing through his ears.

“It’s a lot to take in, I know,” Niall says. “I don’t expect you to have an answer right away. But I wanted to tell you.” He shrugs and drains the last of his coffee. “Gonna take a shower and get some breakfast. If you want, you’re welcome to -” he stops, puts his hand on Louis’ for a moment. “I’d like you to stay.”

“Niall -” Louis starts, not knowing how to continue.

“It’s all right,” he says, squeezing his hand and letting go. “Either way. And if you don’t want - you know,” he waves his hand between them, “then I’ll see you at your New Year’s do. And it will be the same as it has been but with, like, no kissing.”

Niall gets up, smoothing his hand over Louis’ hair on the way out of the kitchen.

Louis sits there for a minute or two, trying to get his heart out of his mouth and back where it properly belongs. It’s that moment just before jumping off a cliff, where your brain and guts are fighting over who gets final say. So, it ends up being any easy decision, after all; flaws aside, he’d never let Niall jump alone. Today’s not going to be the day.

Niall’s already in the shower by the time he makes his way there. Showers are also better when someone is with you - for different reasons, of course -

“All right,” he says, climbing into the warm spray. “Could go for a film. And some Gregg’s. If you’re up for staying in and romancing me.”

“That’s easily managed.” Niall says; the grin that breaks across his face could honestly end winter right now. “You’re wrecking my shirt, though.”

“Fuck your shirt,” Louis says, moving closer. “Also, if you wrote me a song I wouldn’t complain.”

“Done that already,” Niall says. “Boom.”

And for one more minute, they’re just two blokes standing in the shower, smiling like morons. As far as middles go, there’s not a lot he’d do to change it.

 

 

[come say hi on tumblr](https://dinoflangellate.tumblr.com/post/177979465213/remember-what-i-said-last-january-niall-asks)


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